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HE HELD UP THE FLOWERS 

(Page 37.) 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


OF THE SAN COULEE 


H Stov^ for Girls 



MRS. CARRIE L. MARSHALL 


ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH 



THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA MDCCCXCVII 


Copyright, 1897, by The Penn Publishing Company 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I We Buy a Sheep Kanch 7 

II Farewell to Elmwood . 22 

III Across the Plains in a Prairie Schooner ... 39 

IV A Perilous Ride 57 

V Our New Home 71 

VI ' Why Mr. Seaton Sold the Ranch 84 

VII A Change of Opinion 101 

VIII A Visit from the Mexican Shepherds .... 112 

IX Inexperienced Herders 126 

X A Stampeded Flock 142 

XI The Wiiip-poor-wilds 159 

XII Rounding Up Under Difficulties 174 

XHI On the Plains 189 

XIV An Odd Acquaintance 203 

XV A Wild Ride 215 


5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PACK 

' XVI A Friend in Need 231 

XVII The Shearing of the Sheep 246 

• XVIII News from Home 260 

XIX A Second Stampede 270 

XX A Serious Accident 280 

XXI Among the Snow Wraiths 293 

XXII Mr. Seaton is Cornered 309 


THE GIRL RANCHERS OF THE SAN 
COULEE 


CHAPTER 1 

WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 

‘‘There must be a change made, and at once!’’ 
exclaimed Aunt Matilda firmly. She was rock- 
ing herself back and forth, as was her wont 
when excited, in the little cane-seated sewing 
chair that had been mother’s, and the soles of 
her slippers struck the carpet with a soft thud 
at every forward swing. 

Father, who was just recovering from one of 
the frequent coughing fits that left him weak 
and exhausted, found breath to murmur : 

“ Yes, yes ; I suppose so. No doubt you are 
right, Matilda,” but his manner was so absent 
that Aunt Matilda immediately returned to the 
charge with added emphasis : 


7 


8 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


“ There must be a radical change, Hugh ; I 
wish that you realized it more than you appear 
to.” 

‘‘ Well, Matilda, perhajis I do realize it ; 
what then father returned, settling back in 
his own chair and giving up the intention that 
he had evidently entertained of slipping into 
the study, the half-open door of which revealed 
a table littered with an alluring array of proof 
sheets. ‘‘ But what good does that do, since we 
have no money for traveling purposes ? If that 
New York firm had bought the patent for my 
invention, as they more than half promised to 
do, there would be no occasion for saying that, 
but they didn’t buy it, and I must wait until I 
can dispose of the patent for making wood in- 
combustible. The invention for building houses 
of earthenware is the one that has a fortune in 
it. The proof sheets of my book on the subject 
came by this morning’s mail,” he glanced again 
at the study table, “ but that will take time to 
work up, the other will do to realize on for 
ready cash.” 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


9 


Our big, bare, old-fashioned house that father 
had inherited from his father before him was 
littered from cellar to attic with the curious re- 
sults of father^s inventive genius. There was 
not one of these that he had not counted confi- 
dently upon to procure plenty of ready money. 
Mother, who died when Vevie was a tiny baby, 
was a dainty, impatient little creature, prone to 
look around on the household shabbiness, daily 
growing more pronounced, and bursting into 
tears whenever father spoke of getting the 
money that was so sadly needed, through some 
of his inventions. But Aunt Matilda was of 
different stuff ; she would have gone to the 
stake and suffered slow torment before she 
would have allowed her sensitive, ailing brother 
to suspect for an instant that she doubted the 
practicability of anything that he attempted. 
She had lived with us since mother’s death, 
worked for us, made the most of our few suc- 
cesses, carried our burdens on her shoulders 
and our sorrows in her loyal heart. She would 
have gone on in the same way until her tireless 


10 


THE GIEL RANCHERS 


feet came to a final halt at the grave had it not 
been for the report that the great doctor whom 
she had induced father to consult, gave upon his 
case ; then she was aroused to activity in a new 
direction. Tender as she was of father’s feel- 
ings, she yet gave him no peace upon this sub- 
ject, no opportunity to subside into his usual 
absent-minded, speculative content. She prod- 
ded him continually with merciless little re- 
minders of what the doctor had said, until, 
placidly indifferent as he was when the topic 
under discussion happened to be his own health, 
she did at last succeed in securing his attention, 
and that was half the battle, for his mind 
worked with unusual clearness and effectiveness 
when his interest was once enlisted. 

Aunt Matilda made no reply to his remark 
about the incombustible wood invention, but re- 
peated her previous declaration. 

“There’s got to be a change, Hugh ; I shall 
not rest day or night until it is accomplished.” 

Father crossed his legs, clasped his long, thin 
hands over one knee, and prepared to argue the 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


11 


case. The cough that had made an appeal to 
the doctor necessary stopped him for a moment, 
then he began persuasively : 

My dear sister, we must all die sooner or 
later ; it would seem that in my case — if the 
doctor is right, and he may not he — it will be a 
little sooner than — ’’ 

There ! That’s enough !” Aunt Matilda ex- 
claimed brusquely. “ I don’t want to hear any 
more talk of that sort ; and it’s unkind in you to 
say such things, Hugh, when you know so well 
that there is a means of restoring your health, 
which will never be restored until that means is 
taken.” 

Father sighed. Granted, Matilda, that I 
am worth all the trouble that you are disposed 
to take in my behalf. I tell you, honestly, 
that I cannot go to the mountains alone ; my 
last estate would then be worse than my first, 
for I should die of homesickness, and if I 
must choose between two evils I greatly pre- 
fer to die comfortably of consumption here at 
home, than away off somewhere alone among 


12 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


strangers. Here, I have you and the children 
about me.’’ 

At that Florence, who had been sitting silent 
in the corner, biting her lips and winking back 
her tears, sprang to his side, threw her arms 
around his neck, and sobbed, I don’t want you 
to die at all, anywhere, papa !” 

Aunt Matilda stamped her foot. Florence, 
I am ashamed of you ! Have you no self-con- 
trol ? Look at Elsie !” 

Here let me say that I who am writing this 
narrative, am Elsie. At the time Aunt Matilda 
spoke I was sitting very erect, gazing steadily 
out of the window and away from father, con- 
scious that the thread of my sorely tried en- 
durance might snap at any moment, and in fear 
lest Aunt Matilda might unwittingly give the 
final disastrous tug that should snap it. Leave 
me out of the question, if you please,” I said 
stiffly. Aunt Matilda glanced at me, dashed 
the back of her hand across her eyes — she would 
have disdained to make use of a handkerchief at 
such a juncture — and replied huskily : 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


13 


“ Well, I will. Sit down, Florence, you are 
very inconsiderate.” 

Elsie is a stoic,” father said, his kind, bright 
eyes twinkling. You see, Mattie, I’ve got so 
little stamina that I couldn’t get along without 
the tonic that such natures as your own and 
Elsie’s furnish me.” 

‘‘You shall have that tonic, Hugh; we will 
all go with you.” 

“ How, for instance ?” 

“ Well, there’s this place and my farm.” 

“Yes; if either could be set down in the 
midst of some delightful mountain valley 
one could ask for nothing more; but, unfor- 
tunately, they are here and the valley is 
there.” 

“ Their proceeds might easily be put there,” 
returned Aunt Matilda, significantly. 

“ You mean that we shall sell out ? Oh, I 
don’t know. It would be hard to part with the 
old place, or ” — his voice sank very low — “ it 
would have been hard before Donald went away. 
There’s a — a — sense of desolation about it now 


14 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


that I never seemed to feel before ; it’s getting 
shabby, I fancy.” 

Florence had perched herself on one arm of 
his chair and he had an arm around her ; he 
pushed her aside gently, the better to lean for- 
ward and scan the large room and its old-fash- 
ioned, carefully mended furniture ; its ceiling 
where the broken plastering would sag in the 
middle in sj)ite of Aunt Matilda’s various and 
ingenious experiments with tacks, muslin, and 
plentiful paste to keep it in place. Then his 
glance wandered out through the window to the 
shabby out-buildings, the weedy, unkempt lawn, 
and the crooked, gnarled old orchard trees un- 
der which Vevie and Calif, the greyhound, were 
at the moment playing. It is deplorably run 
down ; it is dilapidated,” he admitted, sighing ; 
“ but,” brightening up suddenly, ‘‘ we needn’t 
sell on that account, Mattie. When I begin 
to realize on some of my inventions we can 
make the old place as fine as you please.” 

I am not troubled about the old place, 
Hugh ; it does very well. What does trouble 


WE BUY A SHEEP KANCH 


15 


me is the state of your health ; we must go to 
the mountains, as the doctor said. We must 
begin to look about at once for some investment, 
some business, in a desirable locality where you 
can regain your health and we can do some- 
thing toward gaining our living at the same 
time.” 

“ The investment idea is all right, Mattie, but 
there is no occasion for troubling ourselves as to 
the future. I feel that that is secure.” 

He was thinking of his inventions again, 
and I knew from the expression on her face 
that Aunt Matilda was asking herself des- 
perately what one could do in the face of such 
persistent hopefulness. After a moment’s 
silence she continued : 

Still, Hugh, I should feel more at ease if I 
could see a direct way of making money, or of 
making our living as we go along; that is all that 
I want. We — the girls — need the training that 
some kind of business responsibility will give ; 
even farming. You know that all women are 
expected to have a business training nowadays.” 


16 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


The more the pity/^ responded the father, 
who, like his house, is old-fashioned. But, of 
course, you are right; you always are. We’ll 
start an exploring party for the mountains — on 
paper — with as little delay as possible.” As I 
said before, when father’s interest is fairly 
aroused he is energetic enough, and now, hav- 
ing decided, or having allowed Aunt Matilda to 
decide for him, on emigration, he set himself 
industriously to work, with her assistance, to 
learn what he could of the West and the oppor- 
tunities it had to offer new-comers. 

The final outcome of much writing back and 
forth, here and there, was the purchase of a 
sheep ranch in the valley of the San Coulee, 
well up among the Wind Biver Mountains in 
Montana. The ranch, which comprised a big 
slice of the valley, was stocked with a flock of 
three thousand high grade sheep, and the pur- 
chase included corrals, sheds, water privileges, 
winter and summer range, a two years lease of 
a large tract of school land — whatever that 
might be — and a number of other things that I 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


17 


had never heard of before, neither, I am sure, 
had any of the others. 

Father and aunt were greatly pleased. 

It will be a life of gentle activity fpr us all,^’ 
father said, in talking over the purchase after 
the necessary transfer of papers and the pay- 
ment of the first instalment of the purchase- 
money, which we were to pay in four quarterly 
instalments, or, if we desired, were at liberty to 
make full payment at any time during the year. 

We will naturally wish to look pretty closely 
after our flock, but the real hard work of the 
ranch will be done by the Mexican herders, 
who, Mr. Seaton says, may be hired for a trifle 
and are perfectly reliable.’’ 

I never knew much about any sheep except 
the one that Mary had — and that was only a 
lamb,” Florence remarked cheerfully ; but I 
fancy it won’t be much work to keep an eye on 
the merinos.” 

Sheep are such gentle things, too,” chimed 
in Aunt Matilda ; I remember, don’t you, 
Hugh, those on grandfather’s farm ?” 

2 


18 


THE GIEL RANCHEKS 


‘‘ Y — es, yes, I do, Matilda. I remember that 
one of them tossed me nearly over the barn one 
day. I was stooping down inspecting an ant- 
hill in the barnyard when I was struck by some- 
thing back of me with such force that I seemed 
to have been suddenly fired from the mouth of 
a cannon. I landed upon the roof of a low 
shed in front of me, and to this day I don’t 
know whether I was tossed up there or scram- 
bled up myself, but when I recovered sufiicient 
presence of mind to look about me, there I was, 
and there below me was old Montague, the big 
merino ram, pawing the ground with one foot 
and entreating me to come down and give him 
another chance at me.” 

^‘Did you go ?” asked Vevie, with interest. 

‘‘ Not that day, my dear ; I had had enough.” 

‘‘We can cull out any ill-tempered or vicious 
sheep from our flock,” Aunt Matilda said, with 
a business-like air. “ I feel sure that we will 
enjoy giving the creatures whatever attention 
we may feel necessary.” 

I am always the one who produces the 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


19 


proverbial wet blanket in our hopeful family, 
so now I ventured, ‘‘We know so little about 
the business it may be quite an undertaking, as 
much, perhaps, as it would be run a cattle 
ranch/’ 

Aunt Matilda looked at me reproachfully. 
“ I don’t know how you can think that, Elsie. 
I should be terribly afraid to attempt the 
management of a cattle ranch. But there is 
nothing more tractable, more easily led than a 
sheej^.” 

Months afterward, in the light of bitter ex- 
j)erience, I recalled and revised that remark of 
Aunt Matilda’s. By that time I knew there 
was something more tractable, more easily led 
than a sheep, and that was a family of Eastern 
j)eople bent upon Western achievements. We 
had j)urchased the ranch on the San Coulee 
after due investigation into its title by a lawyer 
in Belmont, the town nearest the valley. The 
price was so low compared with that of other 
properties of the kind that that alone should 
have made us suspicious of something wrong. 


20 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


but it did not; we simply counted ourselves 
fortunate in discovering Mr. Seaton. As that 
gentleman was about leaving the valley he 
offered to sell us the furnishings of the ranch 
house also at a bargain, and the offer was eagerly 
accepted. Mr. Seaton further offered to meet 
us at Cars ton, the railway station most conve- 
nient to San Coulee, but, nevertheless, nearly 
one hundred miles distant from the valley. He 
was to j)ilot us to the ranch, and as his time was 
limited he hinted that it would be a good deal 
of an accommodation to him if we could manage 
to come out soon. Nothing could have suited 
us better, but a sale of the household goods that 
we would not now be obliged to transport was 
necessary before we could leave. It was finally 
decided to dispose of them at public auction, and 
a day for the sale was set. Father grew so in- 
terested in talking of the far-off sheep ranch 
and the novel experiences awaiting us that he 
really seemed to be already on the high road to 
recovery. I said to him one day, it was the 
day before the sale, I remember, ‘‘You seem so 


WE BUY A SHEEP RANCH 


21 


much better, father ; just the thought of going 
to the mountains has helped you.” 

“ I believe it has, Elsie, and then, do you 
know, there’s a kind of clay in the Wind River 
region — I read it in the Gazette that Seaton sent 
— that if all that’s claimed for it is true may 
prove to be the very thing I’ve been looking 
for these twenty years. It’s fine, soft, non- 
porous, lends itself readily to treatment. It 
may be the very thing for hollow brick. If the 
sheep ranch fails there may he a fortune in that 
clay. I shall he deeply interested in examining 
and experimenting with it.” 

Poor father ! It was for pur sakes that he so 
persistently followed what seemed the will-o’- 
the-wisp of his invention, hut my heart sank a 
little as I realized that the clay banks of the 
Wind Eiver range — if he could get to them — 
would be likely to engage a greater share of his 
attention than the sheep ranch in which all of 
our own fortune, as well as Aunt Matilda’s, had 
been invested. 


CHAPTEE II 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 

The day of the sale came and went. In 
addition to our own desire to have the business 
of transplanting our home over with, we were 
anxious to gratify Mr. Seaton by detaining him 
as short a time as possible, and he made such a 
point of meeting us that it seemed he would not 
leave the valley until we came. We thought it 
was very kind of him then to take so much 
trouble on our account ; afterward we had reason 
to believe that he had a purpose in wishing to 
help us to form our first impressions of the val- 
ley and its people, for these impressions might 
not have been flattering to him had any of his 
neighbors been our guide. 

The day after the sale our trunks were packed, 
our tickets purchased, and such household arti- 
cles as we had decided to take with us, includ- 
ing Florence’s organ, were already shipped and 
22 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 


23 


well on their way, but there were still a number 
of things to be done before we were ready to 
board the cars at four o’clock that afternoon. 
Florence had j)ut off a decision as to which of 
her numerous oil paintings were worthy of 
being taken along until the last possible mo- 
ment, and now she was in the front room pull- 
ing over a pile of canvases, grumbling discon- 
tentedly at nearly every one. While I was 
waiting to help her pack those she might settle 
upon finally I stood beside the uncurtained win- 
dow, daring for the first time in many weeks to 
permit myself to think upon Donald. Donald 
was the only child of father’s dearest friend, 
Mr. Arleigh. When he was twelve years old 
his parents both died, and it seemed the most 
natural thing in the world that the orphaned 
lad should come to us ; he had no near relatives, 
no place that seemed so much like home to him 
as the house of his father’s friend, who had no 
son. 

It was before Vevie’s birth that he became a 
member of our family, when Florence and I 


24 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


were just wee girls. The little property that he 
had inherited from his father was sold and the 
proceeds put in the bank, to remain there at in- 
terest until Donald was twenty-one. He was 
educated at father’s expense — well educated — 
and none of us realized how little father could 
afford to spare the money until Donald left us, 
for that was what he did. It was a terrible 
blow to father, though he made no complaint. 
Donald seemed to take a keen interest in the 
pursuits that father found so fascinating. Ap- 
parently he had more faith in the incombustible 
wood invention and the scheme for making 
earthenware houses than even father himself, 
and it was because he so sorely missed the young 
man’s intelligent sympathy and quick under- 
standing that he failed so rapidly after Donald 
left. We all knew that his desertion was break- 
ing father’s heart, but none of us said so. Ordi- 
nary matters seldom worried him, but when 
Donald disappeared the hurt went deep. It 
transpired also that Donald had drawn from 
the bank every cent of the money that belonged 


FAEEWELL TO ELMWOOD 


25 


to him. He had done worse — he had taken 
samples and models of all father’s inventions, 
even to the descriptive letter press and the in- 
combustible formula which he would understand 
so well how to manipulate, and had gone, gone ! 
Father never uttered a word of complaint against 
him, and Florence and I dared not say to him 
that we thought Donald had probably seen the 
value of his inventions and stolen them. Youth 
is apt to be hard on youth. 

To think, then, of him had always given rise 
to bitter anger and grief, at least with Florence 
and me, but never at any time did it have this 
effect upon father and Aunt Matilda, who, it 
seemed to me, were more dazed than angered by 
Donald’s desertion. Now that we were going 
away, if he ever returned it would be to an 
empty house, or to one occupied by strangers. 
So I fell to thinking more kindly of our foster 
brother. 

It was not very long after Donald’s departure 
that Aunt Matilda induced father to consult a 
doctor in regard to his health, which was failing 


26 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


SO fast, but we all knew that Donald^s re-appear- 
ance, no matter what explanation he might give 
of his strange conduct, would be a better medi- 
cine for poor father than any doctor’s stuff or 
change of climate. 

I was aroused from the study of this sad 
puzzle by hearing the click of the gate latch. I 
looked out; a stately female figure was ad- 
vancing majestically up the short walk from 
gate to doorway. 

Florence, Mrs. Elliot is coming,” I said 
in a warning voice. 

Florence, who had been on her knees in rapt 
contemplation of one of her own creations, 
sprang up, turning the picture with its face to 
the wall, and murmuring in tragic improvi- 
sation : 

“My soul be strong ! It ain’t for long, 

In San Coulee she don’t belong.” 

You go to the door, won’t you, Elsie?” she 
added, as the bell rang. 

Yes ; of course ; where’s Aunt Matilda?” 

Upstairs ; she’s got a bad headache and is 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 27 

lying down for a few minutes. Vevie lias gon6 
over to Mrs. Lamb’s to fetch a cup of tea for 
her.” 

The bell rang again, and I made haste to 
answer it ; my footsteps awakening a dreary 
echo that accompanied them down the ^length 
of the uncarpeted hall. I opened the door and 
Mrs. Elliot, entering, returned my greeting 
suavely, asking for Aunt Matilda. She is 
lying down ; she has a bad headache,” I said, 
mentally debating whether it was my duty to ask 
Mrs. Elliot in. She settled the matter herself 
by starting toward the sitting-room where there 
were a few pieces of furniture left by their pur- 
chasers for our use. 

Everything is in dreadful disorder, Mrs. 
Elliot ; I hope you will excuse it,” I said, follow- 
ing her. 

Certainly, certainly, and I can feel for you, 
too, my dear Miss Elsie ! It’s a sad, sad busi- 
ness !” 

'' Why, I don’t know,” I returned rather 
nettled by this view of the case. Of course it 


28 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


is sad that father’s health should fail, but we 
h6pe — ” 

Mrs. Elliot shook her head. It was plain 
til at she had small toleration for my poor 
little hopes. It’s kind in your family to try 
to shield Donald Arleigh, hut I think we all 
understand the young man’s status. Your 
aunt is ill, you say ? No wonder ! After 
what she has had to bear!” 

‘‘ I did not say she was ill, Mrs. Elliot, only 
that she has a headache and is tired.” 

Mrs. Elliot shook her head again, shut her 
lips and sighed ; she had come prepared to con- 
dole, and condole she would. 

It’s a dreadful thing that she must be trans- 
planted at her age, and forced to pass the few 
remaining years of her life in a strange land.” 

“ Aunt Matilda isn’t an old woman, and we 
are only going to Montana, which isn’t a strange 
land,” returned Florence with some heat. 

You’ll find it strange enough compared to 
this,” our visitor insisted. ‘‘ My nephew went 
through there once on the cars — well, I have no 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 


29 


wish to discourage you. No doubt it’s all for 
the best. The Lord, He doeth all things well. 
I hope you’ll remember that in times of dis- 
tress or danger. There’s an Indian reservation 
close by your valley, I understand. My nephew 
told me — but there ! I won’t discourage you. 
And, no doubt, the Indians and cowboys are less 
wild than they used to be ; you are going into 
the region of cowboys, if I hear aright.” 

She spoke as though they were a kind of wild 
animal, and Florence informed her perversely : 

Oh, we’re not all afraid of cowboys ; we’ve 
bought one — that is, there was one thrown in 
with the ranch.” 

Mrs. Elliot glared at her with such an unbe- 
lieving, yet shocked exjDression, that I thought 
it was no more than fair to set the matter right. 

Florence means, Mrs. Elliot, that there was a 
poor fellow who had always lived on the ranch ; 
he doesn’t seem to understand that it is pos- 
sible to live anywhere else, and whenever the 
place changes hands, he just stays. He is very 
good to help about the place, Mr. Seaton says. 


30 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


but lie will not leave it for any purpose what- 
ever/’ 

Dear me ! What a strange whim. Have 
you any idea how he came by it ?” 

“ Mr. Seaton said that he had been badly 
frightened once, when the ranch belonged to 
his father, from whom Mr. Seaton had obtained 
it, and since then he has stayed close by the 
ranch.” 

“ No doubt but that he has undergone some 
shocking experience. My nephew said — never 
mind, I have no wish to discourage you, but 
what a comfort it must be to you all to reflect 
that your dear mother is spared the afiliction of 
this removal. Give my regards to your aunt ; 
I feel for her as a sister might.” 

I wonder why some people always say the 
wrong things!” I thought, bitterly, while our 
visitor arose and made a stately step toward the 
door. Then her eye fell upon the pile of can- 
vases in the corner, and she stopped to look at 
them. 

Pictures ! Ah, yes ; I paint a little myself. 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 


31 


as 25erhaps you have heard. Oh, yes ; yes in- 
deed. Most exj)ressive !” she remarked, as 
Florence, turning the canvases around, dis- 
played one after another. Mrs. Elliot had a 
word of criticism or of commendation for each, 
until, at last, Florence showed one that I knew 
to he a particular favorite of her own. It was a 
coj^y of an old engraving, called ^‘Autumn 
Memories,’’ and showed a torn straw hat lying 
half tilted on its side in the long grass of an 
orchard fence corner. From out its crown 
peejDed a pile of rosy-cheeked apples, two or 
three of which had fallen on the grass beside it. 
In the dim distance was a vanishing view of an 
irate farmer with a club, chasing an active small 
boy who was making such good time that he 
appeared in no possible danger of capture. 

Mrs. Elliot put up her glass, the better to 
study this work of art. '‘Ah !” she exclaimed, 
after a careful inspection. " Pumj^kins ! Very 
well done, very well indeed ! How it reminds 
me of Thanksgiving days and the dear New 
England cornfields ! No doubt you have read 


32 


THE GIEL EANCHEES 


those beautiful lines — Cooper’s I believe — in 
which he so feelingly refers to the time ^ When 
the frost is on the pumpkin, and the corn is in 
the shock.’ Oh, a taste for art, and the ability 
to interpret it, is a wonderful gift. I trust that 
you will continue to improve your gift in your 
new home. Miss Florence. Vulgar associations 
and the companionship of cowboys need not 
tarnish that.” She went on in the same strain 
for awhile, seeming to fancy that we were going 
out AVest chiefly for the purpose of sitting on 
the mountain peaks and looking down on the 
rest of the world. Then she made her stately 
adieus and swept out of the house and out of our 
lives. Indeed, her call would not have been 
worth the trouble of chronicling but for its 
effect on Florence. Scarcely had the door 
closed upon her when Florence jerked that un- 
fortunate copy of “ Autumn Memories ” out of 
the corner and sent it spinning across the room. 
‘‘Ah, indeed! Pumpkins,” she muttered vi- 
ciously. “ Very well done, v — e — ry well done, 
indeed !” I knew her well enough to understand 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 


33 


that the picture was forever disgraced in her 
eyes, but I could not help protesting. 

Don’t, Flossie ; Mrs. Elliot is always mak- 
ing blunders ; you know that. Don’t you recol- 
lect that time when she was introduced to poor 
Mrs. Leland, who is so dreadfully disfigured 
with small-pox, and who is so sensitive about it ? 
She told her the first thing that some people 
would look upon such a face as hers as some- 
thing repulsive, but that she had no such feel- 
ings. She looked beyond the hideous mask to 
the soul that it covered. As long as the soul 
was all right, what mattered it about the mask ! 
And Mrs. Leland cried herself sick thinking 
that that was the impression she must always 
make on strangers. And you remember when 
she saw that painting of Mrs. Weston’s — done 
when she was a girl — she said she wouldn’t have 
believed it possible that it could be her, and 
then she sighed, and added, ^Oh, well, being 
married and raising children will spoil any 
one’s good looks.’ And you remember the time 
when ” — 


3 


34 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


That^s enough/’ laughed Florence, though 
there were tears in her eyes. “ Mrs. Elliot 
hasn’t made a blunder this time ; she has taught 
me what not to take ; the pictures are all daubs ; 
nothing less. They are as much of a failure 
as my music, and what the organ was shipped 
for I don’t know ; everything that I undertake 
is a failure.” She looked gloomily at the pile of 
canvases, then pushed them contemptuously 
with her foot, and turning away said, You 
may pick out any that you choose, Elsie, for, I 
dare say, you are just silly enough to think 
them fine because I did them.” They were fine, 
and as she went out I called Aunt Matilda, who 
had got the better of her headache and had 
come down stairs on Mrs. Elliot’s departure. 
With her help we packed them all. 

Florence has genius ; she does so quickly, so 
well, things that my unskillful hands and slower 
intellect must achieve — if they are achieved at 
all — by patient drudgery. There is this differ- 
ence between us, however. When I have mas- 
tered anything it stays by me, it continues to 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 


35 


be a pleasure, but the very ease with which 
Florence does a thing seems to cause her to 
undervalue it. She has such a lovely voice and 
so much natural talent as a musician, but is so 
impatient of training and practice that Profes- 
sor Endicott himself advised her to give uj) 
music if she could not bring herself to do more 
conscientious work. She couldn’t, and she gave 
it up ; but I don’t believe she would have done 
so if she had fully understood what a blow her 
decision was giving to our family pride. And 
then her painting ! She has such an eye for 
color effects, such skill in shading! Father 
went to see an artist who would only give les- 
sons to the most promising pupils. After look- 
ing at some of Florence’s amateur work he said 
that he should be proud to number her in his 
class. But she had a difficulty with him almost 
at once. He made it a point that she must begin 
at the very foot of the ladder, the very a, b, c of 
art, as she said, when she had already coj^ied 
two or three landscapes so well 1 She could not 
give in to his views, and he would not give in 


36 


THE GIKL EANCHEllS 


to hers, so the lessons were soon given ujo, but 
she kept on with her painting in a desultory 
way because she is so fond of it. But she re- 
quired a good deal of — well, perhaps if it were 
any one but Florence I might call it flattery ; 
still I don’t know that that is any great fault. 
There are lots of people j ust like her ; they 
make good students if only they have enough 
encouragement. 

The dray that was to carry the few remaining 
fragments of our household upheaval to the rail- 
way station came not long after we had finished 
packing the pictures, and, as the distance was 
short, we decided to walk down. It turned out 
to be a kind of farewell ovation. 

The townspeople, old acquaintances and life- 
long friends, were out in force. Father and 
Aunt Matilda walked on ahead, shaking hands 
and replying cheerily to the good wishes show- 
ered upon them. Aunt Matilda looked white 
and tired, and when I saw father’s face I was 
thankful that the ordeal must necessarily be a 
brief one, yet even after we were all seated in 


FAREWELL TO ELMWOOD 37 

the car it was not quite over with. Aunt Ma- 
tilda was sitting beside an open window, smiling 
bravely- to the last, when a great bouquet of 
field lilies was thrust into view, and a shrill, 
small voice piped, Ketch ’em. Miss Stanley ; 
they’re for you.” Aunt Matilda put out her head. 
There was that wretched little Jim Pearson, who 
so many people insisted should be sent to the 
E-eform School ; his freckled face was red 
and streaming with perspiration, his clothing 
splashed with swamp mud, and he held up the 
flowers in both hands for aunt to reach. 

Ketch ’em,” he panted, ‘‘I most didn’t git 
here in time.” The cars were beginning to 
move. Aunt Matilda took the flowers ; she 
looked down into the gray eyes upraised to meet 
her own. God bless and care for you, little 
Jim,” she said, huskily. “ Same to you, ma’am,” 
piped Jim, as the cars slipped past the waiting 
groups, past the familiar stream, past the familiar 
fields, and then Aunt Matilda sank back into 
her seat, covered her face with her hands and 
cried. Jim was a reprobate, but she had always 


38 


THE GIRL RAI^CHERS 


believed in him. She had on one occasion even 
taken his part, and his word, against that of a 
well-dressed boy when it came to a question of 
veracity between them. It happened accident- 
ally, Vm sure, that Jim was telling the truth, 
but no one save Aunt Matilda could have 
been convinced of it. Aunt laid the lilies on 
the seat opposite her, beside Vevie. As there 
were none to be had nearer than AVeston’s 
swamp-field, three miles from town, Jim must 
have run there to get these. After a farewell 
glance at the receding village, Vevie turned her 
eyes contemplatively upon the blossoms. 

I s’pose God was thinking of Jim Pearson 
when He said ‘ Suffer little children to come unto 
me,’ ” she presently remarked, with grave 
thoughtfulness, ’cause he’s awful little for his 
size, and so dirty that nobody but God and 
Aunt Matilda would want him around.” 


CHAPTEE III 


ACROSS THE PLAINS IN A PRAIRIE SCHOONER 

Three days and nights of continuous travel 
took us to Carston, a rough, straggling frontier 
village, but of some importance on account of it 
being the outfitting point for miners and ranch- 
men going to the mountain valleys. As the 
train, late in the afternoon, rolled up to the bare 
platform a score or more of men in garb that 
we already knew to be distinctly Western, lined 
up along its edge and waited for the train to 
come to a standstill. 

wonder if it’s a hold-up?” whispered 
Florence, glancing nervously along the pictur- 
esque line. 

It’s more likely to be a welcome,” returned 
father, smiling. ‘‘ There, do you see that small, 
bustling, stand-out-of-my-way-looking man 
next the tall cowboy in a white hat ? Unless 
I miss my guess, that individual is on the 

39 


40 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


lookout for US, and answers to the name of 
Seaton.” 

Father’s guess was shown, as we left the car 
and reached the platform, to be right in every 
particular. Mr. Seaton greeted us cordially, 
piloted us to a hotel, and left us to our own de- 
vices for the remainder of the evening, but he 
warned us that he would be on hand at an early 
hour the next morning, and that if we looked 
alive ” we might get started for San Coulee that 
day. My impression is that we looked very 
much alive, but, nevertheless, there were so 
many purchases to be made that we did not get 
under way for the valley until nearly noon of 
the second day. Then we might have been seen 
by any interested observer starting out on the 
last stage of our journey to our future home. 

Under Mr. Seaton’s direction and selection 
father had bought four of the tough little native 
horses, all of them well broken to wagon or sad- 
dle. He had rather fancied a span of tall 
American horses that were brought to the hotel 
for our inspection, but Mr. Seaton so decidedly 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


41 


negatived tlie idea of purchasing them that 
father yielded to his judgment, and it is but fair 
to say that in the matter of selecting our outfit 
and stock, we afterward saw good reason to con- 
gratulate ourselves that his skill and experience 
had been at our service. Our four horses were 
hitched to the serviceable wagon that father 
bought. Into it were piled our trunks, the house- 
hold goods that we found already awaiting our 
arrival, three side-saddles, a man’s saddle, the 
organ, some bedding and mattresses — a big load. 
Away we drove, following in the wake of Mr. 
Seaton, who had taken aboard his own lighter 
conveyance some of our household goods. 

The weather — it was about the middle of May 
— was delightful. It was well that it was, for 
we were inexperienced drivers, and I have my 
doubts as to our ability to have gotten through 
at all but for the fact that Mr. Seaton’s team 
took the lead, and about all we had to do was to 
follow. Father was, ostensibly, our driver, but 
I sat beside him, ready at any time to give him 
the full benefit of my inexperience, and Aunt 


42 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


Matilda and Florence from their seats in the 
back of the wagon bestowed upon us both an 
amount of advice that would have been disas- 
trous enough had either of us made any attempt 
to follow it. Our horses were small, but the 
strength of the little creatures was prodigious. 
They trotted off blithely with the heavy load 
that seemed so cruelly big for them, so that we 
had no trouble in keeping up with Mr. Seaton, 
who, leaving his own well-trained team to walk 
on alone, would occasionally come back to our 
wagon and give us what he designated as 
‘‘ pointers ’’ on the management of a broncho 
quartette. We were traveling straight toward 
the low mountain range that loomed up in 
the northwest with hourly increasing distinct- 
ness and majesty. The road stretched over the 
plains in a long white ribbon, until long before 
reaching the base of those far mountains its 
converging lines met, becoming an indistinct, 
misty blur on the verge of a horizon that never 
before had seemed so distant. 

At the close of the first day out we camped 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


43 


beside the road, where a tiny stream gave an 
economical supply of water, but those moun- 
tains, save that they were constantly growing 
in impressiveness, were as far off, as unchanged 
in appearance, as on the hour that our eyes 
first rested upon them. But before noon of 
the second day out, the mountains began to 
proclaim their individuality. Forests of ever- 
greens rose rank on rank, or scattering out 
toward the mountain tops in long, regular 
lines, seemingly advanced up and beyond the 
crests, giving the ‘weird effect of columns of 
marching soldiery disappearing into an un- 
known land. Colonies of prairie dogs greeted 
us with shrill yapping as our wagons rolled by, 
or went scampering out of sight with a disdain- 
ful flirt of their stubby little tails whenever we 
halted the team to get a better view of them. 
A dingy yellow brown coyote thrust his alert 
head and sharp-pointed ears out from a hole in 
the bank of an arroyo over which we had just 
passed by means of a very uncertain bridge, and 
barked derisively when we stopped to study 


44 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


him. He disdained to retreat to his hole, and 
slunk around in the rear of our wagon, crossed 
the road, made a swift detour, and coming out 
ahead, took his position on the top of a little 
hillock. From that coign of vantage he ap- 
peared to be, in his turn, studying us. I doubt 
if the study inspired him with much respect, 
for his derisive bark presently changed to a 
note so much like mocking laughter that Calif, 
who had ignored the prairie dogs, and had re- 
garded the antics of the wolf with stately indif- 
ference, could stand it no longer. Wrenching 
himself free from Vevie’s detaining hand he 
bounded from the wagon like a flash, and took 
after the wolf, which, discovering the greyhound 
for the first time, gave a howl of dismay and 
turning tail, fled with as little apparent effort, 
and as lightly, as though blown by the wind. 
Calif’s blood was up. He kept on after the 
Ishmaelite of the plains at a pace that would 
soon have overtaken him had he not suddenly 
and mysteriously disappeared. 

He’s taken back to the arroyo ; that’s the 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


45 


last we’ll see of him,” remarked Mr. Seaton, 
who, like father, had halted to watch the chase. 

That was a party run,” he continued approv- 
ingly. Them long-legged greyhounds is 
about the swiftest things on earth, I reckon, 
but yours is soft.” 

Vevie, whose face was white with apprehension 
for her pet’s safety, could not endure what she 
took to be an aspersion of his character. Calif 
isn’t any more softer than you are, Mr. Seaton,” 
she flashed out. ‘‘He knows just as much as 
anybody, don’t he. Aunt Matilda ?” but without 
waiting for aunt’s comforting corroboration, she 
covered her face with her hands and sobbed. 
“ He’s lost, now, I know he is. He can never 
find his way back to us.” 

“ Then this is his very handsome white ghost 
that I see trotting toward us, little daughter,” 
said father, smiling ; and, as she scrambled up 
to take a look in the direction indicated, Mr. 
Seaton explained : 

“ I wasn’t alludin’ to his intellec’, which I 
make no doubt is strong enough for all the uses 


46 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


he’ll ever be called on to put it to. I just meant 
that he wasn’t in practice for runnin’. But 
speakin’ of dogs, that dog I sold you with the 
flock is the best one and the smartest that ever 
I saw. Hated to part with him, I did, though 
I’ve no use for him unless I keep sheep. ’Pears 
like Felix couldn’t live without he had a flock 
of sheep to tend to.” 

He ought to be a good dog, considering the 
price we paid for him,” Aunt Matilda could not 
forbear saying. The price of the collie had 
seemed to her Mr. Seaton’s one outrageous de- 
mand ; indeed, she had said that that gentleman 
probably wished to make up on the sale of the 
dog what he lost by the low price of the sheep. 

Mr. Seaton knew his own business. He 
laughed: ‘‘Miss Stanley, I sold you that dog for 
one hundred dollars ; sounds like a big price, I 
know, when you can git dogs ’most anywhere for 
the trouble of totin’ ’em home. But — them dogs 
ain’t Felix, and say, if you think at the end of 
the year, when you’ve had him long enough to 
git acquainted with him, that a hundred dollars 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


47 


was too much to give for him, I’ll take him off 
your hands at that very figure ; I will so.” 

‘‘ That sounds reasonable,” Aunt Matilda 
admitted, and from that moment I never heard 
the collie spoken of as an extravagant purchase. 
As we neared the mountains we saw herds and 
herds of cattle on the plains, but no sheep, which 
seemed to me so odd that I spoke of it to father, 
who, at our next halt, passed the observation 
along to Mr. Seaton. ^^Lots of cattle but no 
sheep !” exclaimed our mentor, glancing toward 
the dun herds with an air of surprise. Does 
seem to be so just here, don’t it?” and then he 
changed the subject. 

As we broke camp and took the road on the 
morning of our third day out, we seemed to be 
driving straight into a high triangular peak, 
which Mr. Seaton said guarded the entrance to 
San Coulee valley. Furthermore he informed 
us that the long black rents in the mountain 
side were wild, rocky canons, the sources of 
streams and the chosen home of the larger and 
fiercer kinds of game. 


48 


THE GIKL KANCHERS 


“Do cowboys live there, too,’’ asked Vevie 
with interest. The child seemed somehow to 
have imbibed Mrs. Elliot’s idea of the nature 
and attributes of a cowboy. 

“ Well, they ain’t a livin’ in the canons very 
much, just now,” returned our guide dryly, “ I 
re’clect bearin’ that Johnny and his father 
dwelt amongst the rocks up in Coulee canon for 
quite a spell once, but I don’t reckon you’ll ever 
be called on to take to the canons.” Ambig- 
uous words! Full of sinister meaning, had we 
but known it. Johnny was the cowboy who had 
been, as Florence told Mrs. Elliot, thrown in 
with the ranch. 

On this last morning Mr. Seaton suggested 
that, as his load was much lighter than ours, he 
should drive on ahead and make such prepa- 
ration as he could at the ranch house, for our 
comfort when we arrived. “ But,” objected father, 
“Johnny, as you call him, knows that we are 
likely to be there to-day ; won’t he do all that is 
needful ?” 

“ Johnny is a good feller, but he needs to be 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


49 


directed; lie’ll do anything on earth that he’s 
told to do — save and except leavin’ the ranch — 
but he needs to be told. I ain’t sure that he’d 
das’t to set down and eat a meal o’ vittles unless 
he was told that he might.” 

‘^Very well,” assented father, who did not 
fancy the arrangement, ‘‘just as you say, Mr. 
Seaton, we can certainly follow along after you.” 

“ Not too long after me, either,” Mr. Seaton 
warned him, with a weather-wise glance at the 
sky. “ It’s thickening up ; that bank of clouds 
over on the Wind River range ain’t hangin’ 
’round there for nothin’. I’m lookin’ for a 
mighty wet spell of weather before night ; storms, 
in this country, and at this time o’ year, come up 
sudden and do business whilst they are up ; so 
don’t let the grass grow under your feet, but 
keep the bronchos humpin’.” He drove away 
at such a pace that his entire outfit was a van- 
ishing speck within an hour, and within two 
hours was indistinguishable from the clumps of 
Spanish bayonet or yucca plants that strewed 
the plains for miles ahead. 

4 


50 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


‘‘ I don’t see just why Seaton was so bent on 
leaving ns,” father said at last, after some miles 
of silent reflection ; that excuse of his that he 
wished to make preparation for our reception 
was trivial, in view of the fact that the house is 
already furnished and there is a man on hand 
who certainly will know enough to unharness 
and care for horses, whatever else he doesn’t 
know.” 

Don’t worry, Hugh, we’ll get through all 
right.” 

“ I’m not doubting that, Matilda, and, after 
all, Seaton has been very kind ; I ought not to 
grumble.” 

None of us suspected his real reason, which, 
months afterward we had learned enough to 
believe, was because he did not care to be seen 
driving into San Coulee valley with the owner 
of a sheep ranch. The firm, gravelly soil made 
an ideal road-bed, and Florence, who had sold 
her bicycle, began to regret that she had not 
kept it. 

‘‘It looks as if all one would have to do 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


51 


would be just to get on to the wheel and coast 
down to those mountains/’ she remarked on 
that last afternoon as the triangular peak, now 
close at hand, rose before us in quiet majesty. 
Father smiled as he said : 

You’d find it hard coasting here, Flossie ; 
this is up.” 

Florence had, by this time, graduated from 
the seat on the fiour sack which had satisfied 
her first humble aspirations, to one on the 
hearth of our new kitchen stove, and leaning 
forward the better to study the angle of the 
road. She announced at last : 

‘‘It is up. See how the horses are pulling 
on the traces ; it’s up ; but it looks down.” 

“A common illusion, I am told, when one 
nears the mountains,” father said. “ What I’m 
afraid of is that we’ll receive more practical 
proof that it’s up than we care for ; if you’ll 
notice, the clouds have crept over from that 
further range and are rolling down upon us fast. 
See ! our sentinel peak is half obscured, and I’m 
pretty sure I heard thunder.” 


52 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


I heard it/’ Aunt Matilda confessed, but 
I daresay it’s only a passing shower.” 

“ I hope so ; we cannot be many miles from 
the mouth of the valley now. I would hate 
to stop for a shower so near our journey’s 
end.” 

^‘So near to the promised land,” remarked 
Florence, stretching her arms upward with a 
long yawn, and Vevie struck lightly into the 
old Methodist hymn that the words called up : 


“ I have a crown in the promised land, 
My Father calls me, I must go. 

To wear it in the promised land.” 


You’ve got a crown here,” father informed 
her, laying his hand for a moment on the 
child’s shining hair, be content with that.” 

Vevie has the most wonderful hair ; not 
yellow, like Florence’s, nor brown, like mine, 
but a shimmering, flaxen, misty mass, like noth- 
ing so much as moonlight on still water ; like a 
trailing white wreath of glory. That wonderful 
abundant fair hair, with the thoughtful, spirit- 


ACROSS THE PLAINS 


53 


uelle face and the deep unchildish eyes often 
made me pause and look at her involuntarily. 
It seemed, with that white, ethereal presence 
that there should be a rustle of wings. 

The child shook her head, smiling faintly at 
father’s words, but the song ceased, and she fell 
to watching the advancing, descending clouds 
with an expression of rapt interest. 

The black wall advanced and drooped rapidly ; 
if we had known then as much of the danger 
from waterspouts in these wild mountains in 
storms as we afterward learned we should have 
stopped at once and made preparations to meet 
the oncoming deluge of wind and rain; but, igno- 
rant of the possibilities of danger for us in that ad- 
vancing black wall with its sullen roll of thunder 
and quivering flashes of light, we urged the tired 
ponies on the faster and pressed forward into the 
clouds until we found ourselves enveloped in a 
hissing, blinding torrent of rain. Rain? It 
was water, driven in a solid sheet before a fierce 
wind, that in an instant caught the white canvas 
top of our prairie schooner, and, swelling it out 


54 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


to balloon-like dimensions, made tlie stout oak 
wagon bows creak and groan as the struggling 
canvas pulled upon them. For a moment 
there seemed imminent danger of the wagon 
overturning ; then the frightened horses, re- 
fusing to face the storm, whirled short around, 
and in doing so righted the wagon, but in 
rescuing it from the danger of being capsized 
by the wind they cramped it dangerously on 
their own account. Father and I, both tugging 
frantically at the reins, succeeded in getting 
them partly back to place, but a wilder gust of 
wind just then tore one end of the canvas cover 
loose and frightened Chris, as we had named the 
yellow broncho. In a delirium of excitement 
he began to buck, and the rest of the team were 
fast becoming unmanageable, inspired, I sup- 
pose, by the yellow broncho’s example. Father 
sprang out, regardless of the rain and of Aunt 
Matilda’s appeals for him to put on his mackin- 
tosh, and made his way to the heads of the 
leaders, where I instantly joined him. Between 
us, by much pulling and coaxing we quieted 


ACKOSS THE PLAINS 


55 


tlie horses and succeeded in getting them around 
with their backs to the storm. Then, wet and 
shivering we crept into the wagon again, pulled 
off our drenched outer garments and put on 
those that Aunt Matilda had got in readiness 
for us. We sat there, waiting in awed silence 
for fully an hour, while the storm raged around 
us. It was our first, never-to-be-forgotten ex- 
perience with a mountain storm. The peals of 
thunder were terrific; the echoing and re- 
echoing reverberations rolled away and away 
among the mountain peaks until at last the 
sound seemed to roll out of hearing over the 
edge of the universe. 

We were very thankful for dry quarters and 
at the end of something over an hour the storm, 
as far as active manifestations were concerned, 
ceased almost as suddenly as it began. The 
trailing skirts of the black cloud swept over us ; 
there was a sudden, delicious lighting up of the 
drenched landscape, and the setting sun came 
out for one farewell glance before leaving his 
wild Western principality to darkness and night. 


56 


THE GIEL EANCHEES 


But, although now less than eight miles from 
the cottage where rest and welcome awaited us, 
our adventures were by no means over ; indeed, 
the latter part of that last half day held for us 
more hair-breadth escapes by land and water 
than all the rest of our journey put together. 


CHAPTER IV 


A PERILOUS RIDE 

We turned the team around and started for- 
ward the moment the last vestige of that black 
skirt of clouds swept over us, but as we advanced 
we saw with a kind of helpless concern that the 
horses were wading in water that was constantly 
growing deeper until the road-bed seemed the 
bed of a stream through which we were making 
a perilous passage. The mountain before us 
had served as a watershed for a veritable cloud- 
burst. 

The water swept down its sides in constantly 
increasing volume and with augmenting force. 

Tye heard of such a thing as swimming on dry 
land,’’ father said, eying the moist prospect ap- 
prehensively, but I never thought that I should 
care to try it.” Then, looking at Florence, he 
asked : Does the road to the mountain lead up 
or down ?” 


57 


58 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


“The water leads down/' she returned 
promptly. 

“ You'll see it turn directly," he said, “ and 
then we'll sail into the valley on the current ; 
just wait until we round the shoulder of this 
giant and you'll see." “This giant" was the 
triangular peak that guarded the entrance to the 
valley. “ The road from the mountain into the 
valley makes a fall of something over a thousand 
feet in less than a half-mile," father continued, 
and at that moment we rounded the first curve 
and caught a passing, beautiful glimpse of a still 
green valley, far beneath. We girls uttered in- 
voluntary exclamations of delight, but it w^as no 
time for sight-seeing, the exigencies of the road 
demanded our undivided and not very capable 
attention. The roadway was cut along the side 
of the mountain, and, as we swung around the 
first curve, the volume of water turned with us 
and went roaring down the path ahead. Sud- 
denly, above the rush of water, a sharp whistle 
sounded, twice and thrice repeated. It came 
from a bit of the road that we could not see. 


A PERILOUS RIDE 


59 


around tlie mountain shoulder, and father 
stopped the team, saying, I wonder what that 
means, some kind of a signal, I’m sure.” We 
all listened anxiously while we waited, in no 
little danger, as it seemed, of being washed down 
by the increasing torrent into the valley that 
shone so bright below us. Then the whistle 
was shrilly repeated ; this time father echoed it ; 
another silence, then a big masculine voice 
shouted, Well, why don’t you come on then; > 
I can’t hold my team here all day.” 

Father started up our horses remarking, in a 
somewhat crestfallen tone, “ I ought to have 
thought of that. This road is cut, as you see, 
along the side of the mountain and there are 
probably niches scooped out at intervals for the 
convenience of passing wagons ; as we are going 
down we have the right of way.” We were now 
so close to the niche in question that his ex- 
planation was unnecessary. Rounding the 
curve we came upon a man who was holding a 
yoke of oxen against the side of a too shallow 
niche by literally pressing them, broadside, 


60 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


up close to the rocky wall by main strength, 
while the water poured from the overhanging 
rock above full upon his head and shoulders and 
the water below ran in a swift muddy current 
reaching well up on his boot legs. It turned 
out to be the worst point on the road at which 
to meet at outgoing team. Luckily the man 
had no wagon ; if he had had one I doubt if we 
could have passed him. As it was our frisky 
horses, true to their usual habits of investiga- 
tion, pricked up their ears at the strange specta- 
cle of cattle bearing a yoke and, with dilating 
eyes and nostrils, evinced an intention to back. 
To back up-hill was not feasible, and the wagon 
began slowly to slew around. 

‘‘Say,’’ shouted our new acquaintance from 
out his impromptu shower bath, “ you want to 
look out ! Water’s softened the road until it’s 
jest mush on the edge ; if your team backs off 
there they won’t never back off nowhere else.” 

Father drew the reins with all his feeble 
strength while I lashed the wheelers frantically. 
Instead of going on the yellow broncho began to 



ONE WHEEL HAD SLIPPED OVER THAT AWFUL VERGE 

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A PEKILOUS RIDE 


61 


rear. A stifled cry from Florence told us that 
one wheel liad slipped over that awful verge. 
Without a word the man with the oxen aban- 
doned them to their own devices and sprang for 
Chris’ head, pulled fiercely on his bit and 
brought him to place with a sharp word of com- 
mand ; then, as the horses sprang forward he 
stood aside for them to pass, giving to each a 
few impartial cuts with his heavy whip and so 
exciting them to speed. 

“ Don’t stop for anything !” he shouted, as we 
swept past. If you meet any one else drive 
through ’em. The river bridge was trembling 
when I come up ; it’ll be gone before you git 
there if you don’t hurry.” 

I wonder what he means ?” queried Aunt 
Matilda anxiously. 

I’m afraid that he means just what he says,” 
returned father whose face was pale with ap- 
prehension, as well it might be, for the horses 
were now going at a terrific rate, the heavy 
wagon swaying and lurching behind them, 
threatening at every instant to overturn or be 


62 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


hurled bodily from the narrow track into the 
gulf below. Our tugging at the lines had no 
more effect in checking the flying horses than if 
they were held with wisps of straw. A backward 
glance showed me Aunt Matilda and Florence 
clinging with colorless lips to whatever they 
could lay hands upon, but making no outcry, 
while Vevie, with an arm around Calif ^s neck, 
gazed, wide-eyed, into the depths beneath us, 
apparently unconscious of the danger in our 
terrible descent. 

The wagon had gained such an impetus that 
I do not suppose it would have been possible 
for the team to check it. On, on, we went, as 
helpless to stay our progress as some gigantic 
missile hurled from a catapult. To this day I 
shudder when I recall the peril of that terri- 
ble descent, and yet the danger incurred by 
a slower, more cautious progress would have 
been nearly as great^ only we did not then 
know it. 

Down the mountain we thundered, throwing 
mud and water in all directions ; down, until 


A PERILOUS RIDE 


63 


by a merciful providence we reached the slight 
stretch of rising ground fronting the approach 
to the bridge over the swollen, turbid river. A 
swift brown stream, the overflow from the river 
channel, ran across this approach ; into and over 
it on to the bridge, we thundered with scarcely 
slackening speed ; through the like overflow on 
the farther side and so upon a stretch of muddy 
road where the blown horses presently came 
down to a walk, and then Vevie^s calm voice 
broke the silence. Father, why don’t you put 
your foot on the iron thing that Mr. Seaton 
showed us, and make it bite the wheels ?” 
Neither of us had before thought of the brakes 
with their convenient rod running within easy 
reach of the driver’s foot. We had not had 
occasion to use the brakes in crossing the 
plains, and as the rod had a tendency to fall 
forward when the wagon was going down-hill, 
and as we had an equal tendency to forget to 
remove it when going up-hill, father had com- 
promised matters by fastening it securely back 
with a chain and then forgetting all about it. 


64 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Of course our friend of the ox-team, when he 
started our horses up so briskly, supposed, as he 
afterward told us, that our brakes were ready 
for use. An experienced freighter would as 
soon think of managing his team without lines 
as of attempting the descent of a mountain 
without brakes ; that, however, was not only 
what we attempted, but what we did, and in 
safety. 

Father and I sitting on the front seat, were 
as wet as if we had been in the river. He 
stopped the horses and, wiping the mud and 
water from his face with his coat sleeve, glanced 
back at Aunt Matilda, remarking, That was a 
narrow escape, Mattie.’’ 

Father,” assented Aunt Matilda, who was 
evidently indisposed to talk about it, but Vevie 
said gravely, I think we coined down too soon, 
papa ; I would like to ride after oxens better 
when we go down-hill.” 

It was the fault of the driver, and not the 
horses, that we came down the mountain like 
a cannon ball let loose, little daughter,” he 


A PEKILOUS RIDE 


65 


returned, gathering up the lines ; then he said, 
looking over his shoulder for Florence who had 
not yet spoken, Are you all right, Flossie ?’/ 

There was no reply, and Aunt Matilda, turn- 
ing her head, uttered a wild cry, Hugh, stop ! 
stop! she’s gone; she has been thrown out! 
Oh, Florence ! Florence !” Such an outburst 
from self-contained Aunt Matilda, who seldom 
gave way to emotion lest she might distress 
some one else, was nearly as startling as the in- 
formation itself. 

‘‘Hush, Matilda,” father cried, halting the 
team, “she has probably jumped out ; she could 
not get out any other way.” 

“I’m sure she was thrown out, and she’s 
probably lying back in the road helpless,” 
sobbed Aunt Matilda, whose overstrained nerves 
had given away. 

“ That’s nonsense, Matilda ; she might, if she 
was spry and active enough, have crawled to 
the end of the wagon and dropped out behind. 
That would have been a way of saving herself 
if the wagon went over the precipice.” 

5 


66 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


‘‘And Florence would like to save herself 
always/’ said Vevie, seriously. 

“ Elsie/’ father continued, “ go back to the 
river and see if you can find any trace of her ; 
I’ll stay with the team and get the brake ready 
for use, too, before we start again.” This he 
did, and we used it when necessary for the 
remainder of our journey. 

When we got out of the wagon and looked 
back toward the river that we had but just 
crossed, a new and terrible surprise awaited us. 
Brief as had been the interval since our cross- 
ing, it had been long enough to complete the 
work of destruction. The bridge was gone ! 
Aunt Matilda and Vevie had got out of the 
wagon to go with me, and I do not know which 
one of us, or if all together, gave the startled 
cry that caused father to thrust his distressed 
face out from the wagon cover and inquire 
anxiously : 

“ What now ?” 

“ The bridge is gone, Hugh !” 

“ Is it ?” 


A PEKILOUS EIDE 


67 


He could say no more for a moment. I 
think that the same thought occurred to all 
three of the older ones, What if she were on 
the bridge when it went down Then Aunt 
Matilda whose courage always rose with emer- 
gencies, j)repared herself for action. 

Come, Elsie, are you coming 
We reached the water’s edge and were stand- 
ing staring blankly at the place where the bridge 
had been, when, to our delight, Florence came 
in sight on the other side, accompanied by the 
owner of the oxen and the oxen themselves. 
Halting at the farther bank she shouted to us, 
but the voice of the water was so much the 
stronger that we could not make out a word. 
Then the man took up the explanation and hal- 
looed in a mellow, distinct voice that seemed to 
have the carrying j)Ower of a great bell. 

“ She wants to tell you that she ain’t hurt a bit ; 
she jumped out of the wagon; I seen her; I 
come down here to help her acrost the river, but 
she can’t git acrost now less’en she goes up to 
McCarthy’s mill, two miles further up.” 


68 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


Aunt Matilda put her hands to her mouth and 
screamed across, Oh, she can’t walk so far in 
this mud !” 

She won’t have to walk,” roared our friend, 
I’m going with her ; she can ride one of the 
oxen ; they’re broke to ride,” and as if to show 
how little cause'we had for apprehension on her 
account he pulled off his coat, spread it carefully 
over the broad back of the nearest ox, said a 
word or two to Florence, and then lifted her to 
the creature’s back as lightly as a feather. He 
then turned the clumsy team around on the back 
track, but paused once more to give us a word 
of cheer. I know who you be ; you’re goin’ 
to Seaton’s ranch ; don’t you worry about the 
little girl ; I’ll fetch her along all right, but it 
may be a little late ; oxen ain’t fast.” As the 
unique steeds with their long-legged driver be- 
side them started up the mountain road again, 
Florence turned to wave her hand to us; she 
was laughing. 

What did he say ?” asked father as we 
rejoined him. '‘I saw what was going on. 


A PERILOUS RIDE 


69 


but I couldn’t make out anything that he 
said.” 

Aunt Matilda recited what had taken place 
while Vevie, with a hand over her mouth, 
giggled hysterically. Flossie’s going to ride 
a ox !” she explained as Aunt Matilda concluded. 
We who better appreciated the situation could 
only smile faintly at the child’s merriment. It 
was certainly better under the circumstances, to 
laugh than to cry, but I was in my heart very 
sorry for 2^oor, proud Florence, making her 
entry on the scene of her future home by a 
detour of four miles, and perched upon the back 
of an ox at that, if she came at all. Wild visions 
of kidnapers, of Indians, even of Mrs. Elliot’s 
wild cowboys flashed through my mind as we 
again clambered into the wagon and started on at 
a pace slow and difflcult enough to atone for any 
previous haste. For my part I did not care to 
make haste since every step was taking us 
farther and farther away from Florence, and 
who could tell into what danger she might be 
going. Father presently discovered that Aunt 


70 


THE GIEL BANCHERS 


Matilda was crying quietly and set himself to 
try to comfort her. Florence will get around 
all right before many hours, Mattie ; you 
know what good fellows these mountaineers are ; 
they^ll take no end of trouble to help a neighbor, 
and I hope our tall friend is a neighbor in fact 
as well as sentiment. It’s going to be a bright 
moonlight night, too.” 

“ Oh, I know there isn’t any danger,” re- 
turned Aunt Matilda in a voice that plainly 
betrayed that that was just what she had been 
thinking of, but I’m afraid it will be dread- 
fully uncomfortable riding on an ox, anyway, 
and Florence isn’t used to riding.” 

She will be before she gets through,” father 
responded rather grimly, ‘‘ and I don’t suppose 
that riding an ox is any more uncomfortable 
than riding a camel, and, you know, people 
willingly cross the ocean and dislocate their 
joints for the sake of being able to say that 
they have bestrode a ‘ ship of the desert.’ ” 


CHAPTER V 


OUR NEW HOME 

The late summer dusk was struggling with 
the light of the rising moon when, wet, weary, 
and more disheartened by the manner of our 
introduction to San Coulee than any of us 
would have admitted at the time, we drew up 
before the welcome door of the ranch house. 
Lights shone in the windows, an odor as of a 
warm meal in process of preparation was wafted 
to our nostrils, and all at once, our world, even 
to Florence’s unended adventure, took on a more 
cheerful aspect. Mr. Seaton came hurrying out 
to meet us as the wagon stopped, and was pro- 
fuse in his expressions of regret when he found 
what a moist condition we were in. While he 
helped us out father told him what had befallen 
Florence. Mr. Seaton chuckled : 

That’s all right, only, of course, it’s a pity 
to put the young lady to so much trouble, but 

71 


72 


THE GIEL EANCHERS 


you needn’t feel a mite uneasy about her getting 
here ; she’ll be along as soon as Rome can make 
them oxen of his git over the road. He’s all 
right ; he’s one of the best fellows in the valley, 
and I ain’t gittin’ no pay for sayin’ that, ’cause 
I’ve got a purty strong idea that he ain’t over 
’n’ above fond of me.” 

It was fortunate for us that he happened 
to be on the mountain,” father said. 

‘‘Yes, it was; I saw him as he went a-past 
here ; he said he was goin’ to git a wagon out- 
side and go down to Belmont for supplies. 
Belmont is the town nearest us, ’round the 
corner of that high mountain. Mount Kenneth, 
that is ; Indian Reservation’s on the other side. 
But come in, come in; Johnny, here, will take 
care of the horses, and supper’s all ready.” He 
led the way briskly into the house — everything 
that the man did was done with a rush, as 
though he were always bent on making up time 
that he had lost somewhere in his progress 
through life. Sure enough, the table was neatly 
set, and the bright, cozy room was full of the 


OUR NEW HOME 73 

delicious odors of the warm meal that had 
appealed to our nostrils already. 

“ Set right down/’ advised Mr. Seaton, hos- 
pitably, ‘‘ no use waiting until everything’s cold. 
Johnny and me we’ve eaten our supper already 
so as to be ready to tend to things when you got 
here.” 

I think, perhaps, we had better wait for 
Florence,” Aunt Matilda suggested doubtfully. 

There ain’t a grain o’ use in doing that,” 
insisted our late guide. ‘‘You would only be 
putting yourselves out and not helpin’ her ; for, 
I tell you, she’s just as safe to git here all right 
as if she was cornin’ on a special car that was 
built a purpose for her.” This was so re- 
assuring, and we were so hungry, that we has- 
tened to follow his advice as soon as we had 
divested ourselves of our damp garments, while 
he devoted himself to the task of helping Johnny 
unload what he designated as our “ plunder.” 

Johnny was another surprise. I, at least, 
had somehow imbibed the notion that our at- 
tache was a bent, timid, retiring, pale-faced boy. 


74 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


and I was partly right, but could not have 
missed the mark more thoroughly as far as 
physique went. Tall, broad shouldered, straight 
as an arrow, with a shock of curling, light- 
brown hair, he was as attractive to look u23on as 
some perfect statue. But, poor Johnny, there 
it ended. There was no speculation in those 
deep blue eyes, no emotion betrayed by the loose, 
expressionless lips. The whole effect of his 
personality — if I may use such a term in speak- 
ing of him, for he did not really seem to have a 
personality — was saddening, as of a misfit of 
nature ; a child^s mind in the strong body of a 
man ; a soul too small for its environment look- 
ing out vacantly from a man’s eyes. As we be- 
came acquainted with this helpless waif, who 
had been “ thrown in with the ranch,” we grew 
warmly attached to him. Never was a more 
faithful, willing, obedient aid than Johnny, 
within his limitations ; his limitations were the 
boundaries of th^ lower San Coulee valley. He 
was not timid, nor forward, but regarded us at the 
table, as he passed back and forth through the 


OUR NEW HOME 


75 


room, with the frank, impersonal curiosity of 
an untrained child. 

Calif did not like Mr. Seaton ; he had made 
that manifest ever since first meeting him, and 
now, feeling, I suppose that he was at home and 
so entitled to an expression of opinion, he was 
not backward in expressing it. He followed the 
object of his animosity back and forth and kept 
growling until father took a piece of rope and 
tied him ignominiously to the leg of the lounge. 
Still he continued to voice unfavorable comments 
upon the alert, little man, who was dodging 
back and forth through the room. Vevie’s 
eyes filled with tears at her favorite’s disgrace, 
but she made no protest, except to explain 
Calif’s behavior to Mr. Seaton. Vevie displayed 
at times a talent for truthfulness little short of 
appalling, added to which she credited Calif 
with 'a degree of intelligence possible only to 
the illimitable credulity of childhood ; so now 
she stopped Mr. Seaton in one of his hurried 
dashes to say : 

Calif don’t like you. It was real good in 


76 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


you to sell papa this little house with a fireplace 
in it, and to frow our things into it so quick — 
youVe broke Aunt Matilda’s cut-glass pitcher, 
too, that she thought so much of, but I guess 
she won’t mind — but I s’pose, maybe, you’ve 
done something bad some time and Calif re- 
members it. I’ll tell him you’re good now, 
anyway.” 

‘‘That’s right, little lady, that’s right,” exclaimed 
Mr. Seaton, with undiminished cheerfulness, but 
he did not “ frow ” the next articles into the room 
with quite so much vehemence. Oddly enough 
Calif had already signified his solemn approval 
of Johnny, and it was Johnny, on one of his 
trips back and forth, who called attention to 
Vevie. “Why don’t you eat?” he asked, paus- 
ing before her and regarding her with calm in- 
terest. For answer the child threw up her arms 
and burst into a wild fit of sobbing. Father set 
down the cup that he was just raising to his lips 
and hurried to her side. “Vevie, child, what 
is the matter?” he cried, anxiously. “What 
are you crying about ?” He knelt on the floor 


OUK NEW HOME 


77 


by her side — it was so strange to see Vevie 
ill tears, she who never complained and whose 
sky was always sunny, no matter what the 
weather. 

She leaned her head on father’s shoulder, dier 
silvery, flaxen hair straying over it like a shin- 
ing mist. Calif is hungry, too,” she sobbed, 
‘‘ and he is tied up ! He thinks nobody cares 
for him !” 

I’ll tie him here by you,” father told her, 
then he will know better.” He did so, and 
not long afterward, supper being over, I looked 
for Vevie and found her fast asleep under the 
table where she and Calif had both crept, 
her head pillowed on the greyhound’s white 
shoulder. 

The wagon load of plunder ” being disposed 
of, our friend pulled out an immense silver 
watch and consulted its face inquiringly. 
“ Time I was getting on,” he announced ; ‘‘ I’d 
like first-rate to stay and see Miss Florence 
come in ; she’ll be here in a few minutes now, 
but I’ve got some ways yet to go to-night.” 


78 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Surely you will stay liere/^ Aunt Matilda 
interposed. It's late, and you must be 
tired." 

‘‘ Not very late, and I never get tired ; the 
horses have had a good rest whilst you was 
cornin' on, and we must be movin'." 

‘‘ Are you leaving the valley soon ?" asked 
father. 

Why, I've left it already ; that is to say, 
the boys have driven the cattle over beyond 
Wind River, and there's nothing left to go but 
wife and I and a little plunder ; wife is waiting 
for me at Wilson's, ten miles out ; I'll drive out 
there to-night, and it'll be so much of a start 
for to-morrow." 

He made his adieus to us all ; father thanked 
him warmly for his services in our behalf, but 
he did not offer to pay him for coming to meet 
us, a sad oversight, as it afterward turned out. 
Father took his coming — since he had proposed 
it himself — as an act of courtesy which it would 
be offensive to place upon a money basis. . He 
had gained the porch when an idea seemed to 


OUR NEW HOME 


79 


strike him and he put his head in at the door 
again. “Oh, by the way, Stanley, I don’t rec’- 
lect as we come to any agreement about hay ; I 
knew you would want some, of course, so I took 
the liberty of puttin’ a couple o’ tons in the barn 
against your cornin’.” 

“ That was very kind and thoughtful in you,” 
father assured him. “ How much does it come 
to?” 

“ Thirty dollars ; hay is fifteen dollars a 
ton.” 

Father could not suppress a start of surprise ; 
hay at that price would be as expensive for us 
as if grown on the uplands of Arcadia. 

“ Say, say, Mr. Seaton,” interposed Johnny 
who had been listening open-mouthed to the 
conversation, “ Seth Jones he brung that hay 
only yis’tday ; he said he’d — ” 

“ Hark !” cried Seaton with uplifted hand, 
“ ain’t them horses kickin’, Johnny?” Johnny 
sprang uj) and hurried out to the barn. In his 
absence father paid Mr. Seaton the price that he 
suggested for the hay, and that thrifty ranch- 


80 


THE GIEL RANCHERS 


man, pocketing the money, walked out to where 
his team and wagon were already waiting, 
climbed to the seat and with a final, Good 
night, and good luck,’’ disappeared. It was 
many months before we saw him again. The 
sound of his wagon wheels had scarcely died 
away when a clear whistle sounded from the 
road in the opposite direction, and soon, in the 
patch of moonlight beyond the gate, Florence 
and her escort came in view. 

Here we are, safe and sound,” cheerily 
cried the person whom Mr. Seaton had desig- 
nated as Rome,” as he rounded his team 
up before the gate and helped Florence to 
alight. Hope you didn’t get uneasy,” he 
continued as we crowded out on the porch to 
meet them. ^‘Oxen is slow, but then again, 
they’re safe.” 

‘‘You’ll come in and have some supper, 
surely,” Aunt Matilda cried suddenly as Rome 
picked up his whip and made a movement as if 
to go. 

“ Not to-night ; you’re all tired enough with- 


OUR NEW HOME 


81 


out settin’ out refreshments for stragglers to- 
night, I reckon,’’ and he stuck to his resolution 
inflexibly in spite of our protests. 

“ I want to thank you for bringing my niece,” 
Aunt Matilda told him by way of further per- 
suasion. The handsome giant shook his head 
and smiled. 

‘‘Now you’re jest sending me on my way 
hot- footed ; if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s 
being thanked.” 

“ Where will you go then ?” asked Florence, 
who was leaning against the door post, looking 
worn out. 

“ I’ll stop with Davis to-night ; he keeps the 
store and post-office down here a piece — but I’ll 
be cornin’ along back this way day after to- 
morrow, and I’ll stop then and see how you’re 
getting along.” He checked himself again as 
he was about starting to speak to Johnny, who 
had been looking on, lingering respectfully in 
the background. 

“ How’s times, Johnny ?” he demanded cheer- 
fully. 


6 


82 


THE GIKL RANCHEES 


Tliey’s purty good/’ Johnny returned, grin- 
ning with pleasure. 

‘‘ That’s right ; take good care of these folks, 
won’t you, Johnny ?” 

‘‘ On the ranch ?” Johnny questioned with a 
quick change of voice. 

‘‘ Why, of course on the ranch ; what are you 
thinking of?” 

He bade us good-night again, and we went 
with poor tired Florence into the house, intent 
on ministering to her comfort, but the cowboy 
who would not leave the ranch remained on the 
porch, watching the oxen and their driver as 
they went down the road in the moonlight. 
When he came in some minutes later he found 
a seat in a dark corner of the room and from 
that unobtrusive standpoint made a startling 
observation. 

“ Seaton lied to you ; he’s the biggest liar in 
Coulee ; that hay cost but seven dollars a ton ; 
I seen him pay Seth Jones for it ; I guess he 
was mad ’cause you didn’t pay him for goin’ to 
meet you ’stead of just thankin’ him ; thankin’ 


OUR NEW HOME 


83 


won’t buy no cattle ; he’s buyiii’ cattle. I like 
Rome Beaumont. I wish’t he’d a bought me 
and the ranch. Seaton says I might be turned 
away ; but Rome, he wouldn’t turn me away. 
I most wouldn’t be afraid to ride as fur as the 
river bridge with Rome ; he ain’t a coward, he 
wouldn’t let no cattle men hurt me.” That was 
a long speech for silent Johnny to make, but 
our coming had unconsciously excited him. He 
got up presently and went off to his bed in the 
attic, leaving us to puzzle over his words while 
we cared for Florence. 


CHAPTEE VI 


WHY MR. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 

Within a week we were fairly installed in 
our new home, and ready to make the acquaint- 
ance of our valley neighbors ; but, contrary 
to all our preconceived ideas of the welcome 
extended to new-comers by the western people 
they seemed to avoid us ; not only that, but on 
the occasions when we chanced to encounter any 
of them, as we often did in going to the store 
or post-office, they seemed disposed to treat our 
advances toward a more intimate acquaintance 
with a cavalier curtness that bordered on con- 
tempt. The settlers were all, or nearly all, 
ignorant and primitive. Except that our lot 
was cast among them it did not much matter 
how they took us, but nevertheless it was any- 
thing but pleasant to find that the feeling 
toward us was distinctly unfriendly. Aunt 
Matilda and we two girls felt it the more keenly 
84 


WHY MR. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 85 

for the reason that we were again sorely troubled 
about father’s health. He had, as might have 
been expected, contracted a violent cold during 
that last exciting afternoon of our journey and, 
unable to go out himself, he was prone to spec- 
ulate on the possible causes of his isolation. 

I’m pretty sure that these folks would like us 
if they’d give us a fair trial,” he would declare 
humorously, between spasms of coughing. But 
they never gave us a trial ; and we were let se- 
verely alone by nearly all save Borne Beaumont, 
who |)roved himself so true a friend that I know 
we never could have done what we did but for 
the aid and counsel that he furnished. Johnny 
was a great help, too, although it certainly was 
inconvenient at times that he could not be in- 
duced even to drive to the store or to a neighbors 
to do an errand. He took care of the horses 
and was always ready to harness or saddle them 
for our use ; never by any chance for his own. 
The horses were turned into a pasture near 
the house, so that we were not obliged to con- 
sider ourselves extravagant in keeping four 


86 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


of them, although to keep one, with hay at 
fifteen dollars a ton, had at first appeared too 
great a luxury for our limited means. 

There was enough money still in hand to pay 
our way until the first shearing of the shee]:), 
when we hoped to realize enough from the ‘‘clip ’’ 
as it was called, to make the next quarterly pay- 
ment on the ranch and flock. Florence and I 
fully understood just how matters stood with 
regard to the ranch and the way in which it was 
to be paid for, and it troubled our young heads 
not a little. Father sometimes complained that 
so much business worry would cause us to grow 
old before our time, and, lamenting the failure 
of the incombustible wood invention, said he was 
a useless log, weighing his children down with 
cares that did not belong to their age, but these 
dark moods were too foreign to his sunny nature 
to be of long duration. As for Aunt Matilda, 
she averred that the youth or maid did not exist 
who had ever been injured in health or spirits 
by taking too much care for others, or for the 
future. “Young folks are selfish,’’ she pro- 


WHY MR. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 87 

claimed oracularly. ‘‘Look at the unconcern 
with which a young girl — more especially if she^s 
pretty and knows it, as they mostly do — or a 
young man, will remain idle and see careworn 
father or mother attend to the thousand and one 
little duties that could just as well, indeed better, 
be laid upon younger shoulders. They do not 
seem to realize until old age and feebleness have 
come palpably upon them that it is possible for 
their parents to become tired. The common 
excuse is that youth should have its fling ; but 
since the fling can last but a short time at the 
best, it would be wiser to provide something else 
while youth is passing, instead of after it has 
passed, as is the usual way ; a little business 
discipline will not hurt our girls, Hugh.” 

“ A little. No, Mattie, what I am afraid of 
is that they will get too much.” 

“ If we do,” was my mental resolution, “ you 
shall never hear of it from me.” 

Home, who was working something that he 
denominated “ a prospect,” somewhere up above 
us in the mountains, was a pretty frequent 


88 


THE GIRL RAICCHERS 


visitor to the cottage from the first, and it was 
on his advice that Florence and I began to take 
lessons in riding almost at once. 

‘'YouVe got three good saddle horses,’’ he 
informed us on his second visit. ‘‘I don’t go 
much on that yellow broncho, but the others are 
good, ’specially the one that you call Luck — ” 

Whereat, I am ashamed to say I showed my 
ignorance of horseflesh by laughing. ‘‘Why, 
Mr. Beaumont, he’s the homeliest one of the 
lot !” 

Borne smiled wisely. “ Handsome is that 
handsome does, they used to tell me when I was 
a boy and inclined to envy others their good 
looks” — he must have been awfully conceited 
if he wanted to be handsomer — was my secret 
thought, while he went on : “ Luck is an odd 
name, too — ” 

“ There’s luck in odd numbers, says Kory 
O’More!” sang Florence, who was listening. 
“ He looks so different from the others that he 
seemed an odd number, so we took Mr. O’More’s 
word for it that he should be called Luck.” 


WHY MR. SEATOIT SOLD THE RANCH 89 

Well, it’s a good name and you was in luck 
to get him, because even if he is an odd number 
you’ll find that he ain’t a back number like the 
buckskin.” 

“ How do you know ?” asked Florence with a 
saucy smile. 

How do I know ?” Rome scratched his head. 

See here. Miss Florence, you’ve seen folks that 
show, without ever speaking one word, that 
there’s something uncommon in ’em ; it shows 
in their faces ; it kind of lights ’em up ; I s’pose 
likely it’s what folks mean when they speak 
of anybody’s having expression. Why, your 
father, now, he’s just that kind of a man ; and 
Luck, he’s that kind of a horse. You girls 
want to pick out your horses and always ride 
the same ones ; then you’ll know each other. 
The time may come when — well, you better 
learn to be good riders soon’s you can. Johnny 
can teach you all you want to know a plumb 
sight better than a fancy riding master could. 
I can rec’lect when there wasn’t a better rider 
in all the Coulee country than Johnny was.” 


90 


THE GIKL KANCHERS 


Has he no name but Johnny asked Floi> 
ence, indifferently; she was not greatly inter- 
ested in our cowboy. 

Yes -; his name^s John Alton, hut the whole 
valley knows him as Johnny, now.” ' 

How long has it been since he became as he 
is?” I inquired, but Rome did not appear to 
hear the question. He urged us again to lose 
no time in learning to ride, and not long after 
took his departure. I do not think that I am 
at all given to suspicion, but I was positive in 
my own mind that there was some powerful 
reason, and one that he did not wish to disclose, 
for wishing us to learn to ride, and, as he said, 
lose no time in doing so. We had been nearly 
two weeks in San Coulee, and, riding every day, 
were already fairly good riders, when I found 
out what that reason was. 

Our flock of three thousand sheep we had not 
yet seen, owing partly to father’s illness and 
partly to the fact that we did not yet feel quite 
confidence enough in our equestrian powers to 
visit them. The flock was in the upper San 


WHY MR. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 91 

Coulee valley, a small, mountain-walled basin 
of limited area, in charge of two Mexican herders 
and the sheep dog, Felix. Our cottage lay con- 
veniently in Rome’s way as he made his semi- 
weekly journeys to the store. It was while on 
his way back from the store that he stopped one 
Saturday evening to inquire for father. As he 
had already stopped when going down, his 
solicitude appeared rather marked. He sat and 
talked with father awhile and then took leave 
of him, but on his way to the door he made a 
slight beckoning gesture to Aunt Matilda, who, 
being quick witted, readily understood that he 
wished to speak with her where father could not 
hear what was said. She nodded for me to come, 
and making an excuse that we wished to walk 
a little way with Mr. Beaumont, we stepped out 
into the soft, spring night. Home led the way 
to the bench under the big pine, a few yards 
from the house, and while aunt and I sat down 
he stood with one hand upon the rough bole of 
the tree. 

‘"Miss Stanley,” he began, ‘4t’s got to that 


92 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


pass that I feel jest plumb compelled to ask you 
a few questions. I been a telling myself all 
along that it ain’t none o’ my business, but — I 
guess it is. Here you be, three women folks 
and a baby, so to speak, with a sick man on 
your hands. Well, I don’t suppose you would 
want to worry that sick man ?” he added, inter- 
rogatively. 

No,” returned Aunt Matilda, decidedly. 

No ; I didn’t suppose you would ; ’twouldn’t 
do no good and might hurt him. Besides, 
you’ve got me to help you. I’m going to help 
you, come what may.” There was a thrill in 
the man’s voice, a wild energy as if he defied 
some danger. He went on hastily, evidently 
fearing that his earnestness might have alarmed 
us. Now the question I want to ask is this : 
When Abel Seaton sold you this ranch and the 
sheep, did he say anything, did he let on in 
anyway, that there was like to be trouble in 
store for you ?” 

Trouble !” echoed Aunt Matilda. “ No, 
certainly not ; what trouble could there be ?” 


WHY MR. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 93 


“ There could be — and is — a good deal ; and 
an almighty mean man Seaton is to entrap a lot 
of women and a sick man into such a hornets’ 
nest as a sheep ranch in San Coulee is now ; but 
he wanted to sell and he ain’t the man to lose a 
good trade for want of keeping his mouth shut, 
I’ll say that for him. Well, to cut the matter 
short, the sheep business ain’t exactly pop’lar 
in San Coulee ; it’s so unpop’lar, in fact, that 
Seaton would a pretty nigh given his flock to 
any one that would take it a couple o’ months 
ago. Since then he has been a holding ofi*, 
making excuses and promising to run the stock 
out, or that he wouldn’t own a head of sheep 
inside of thirty days if they’d only give him 
time to turn around. They gave what he asked 
for because it was Seaton and he’s a dangerous 
man to offend. He turned ’round by dumping 
his stock onto you.” 

I don’t understand you ; whom did he 
promise ? Why is sheep ranching so unpopu- 
lar?” 

He promised the cattlemen ; the rustlers, 


94 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


who claim to run this part of the country. 
They’ve sworn that they won’t allow anybody 
this side of Wyoming to keep sheep, if they can 
hel]^ it, and I reckon they can.” 

How ?” demanded Aunt Matilda with spirit. 

How ? With shotguns, with stripes, with 
fire; sometimes with death,” was the solemn 
answer. In the pause that followed, the voice 
of the river, less turbulent now than when we 
had first heard it, arose in a swelling murmur 
above the low music of the pines. In the open 
doorway of the cottage Johnny’s figure ap- 
peared ; he was looking inquiringly in our 
direction. Johnny’s always uneasy if every- 
body that he’s interested in isn’t safe under 
shelter when night-time comes,” observed Rome, 
folding his arms and leaning against the trunk 
of the pine tree. I reckon maybe this is a 
good time to tell you how he came to be what 
he is now. As the preachers say it will serve 
to illustrate my text. It was five years ago, 
come fall, that the cattlemen got on a tear 
similar to what they’re getting on now, and 


WHY MK. SEATON SOLD THE RANCH 95 


made proclamation that there should be no 
sheep in San Coulee. The sheep men were 
mostly Mexicans then and easy to handle be- 
cause they were afraid of the white men. So 
they readily agreed to make themselves scarce ; 
and they did, in short order. 

The leader of the anti-sheep movement — 
he’d been elected sheriff of the county for no other 
purpose than to work out the will of the cattle- 
men — made his boast that within ten days from 
the time that he took the oath of office there 
wasn’t but one sheep ranch left in the county ; 
that one was the one that you have bought. It 
belonged then to Ralph Alton, Johnny’s father. 
The leader then declared that within ten days 
more even this one wouldn’t be left. And he 
kept his word. Alton was a determined kind of 
man. He got his title to the lower valley from 
the government ; took it up as a homestead 
claim. The upper valley, where your sheep 
are now, is, as you prob’ly know, leased school 
lands. Alton leased it to begin with and Seaton 
has had it since. Well, the 'Regulators,’ as 


96 


THE GIEL RANCHEES 


the sheriff’s posse called themselves, called on 
Alton and told him he might have just twenty- 
four hours in which to get out of Coulee. You 
see he had put all he had and the labor of 
five years into the ranch ; to leave meant finan- 
cial ruin ; to stay, as it turned out, meant death. 
Alton stayed ; he paid no attention to their 
notice. 

The next day he and Johnny were up in the 
upper valley watching the sheep as usual, when 
a score or more of masked men suddenly dashed 
out from the shelter of the rocks and yelling 
and firing off their guns, charged on the sheep. 
They brought on a wicked stampede. The 
sheep fairly ran and piled over each other in 
their eagerness to get away ; lots of them were 
killed in that way. Alton stood in the natural 
gateway that blocks the lower entrance to the 
valley and tried to stop them, and Johnny, up 
on the hillside with his dog, did his best to help. 
Maybe the Regulators were angry because they 
did that; they might a’ took it as a kind of 
defiance. Anyway, they shot Alton. Then, as 


WHY ME. SEATON SOLD THE KANCH 97 

they stood over his father’s body they ordered 
Johnny to come to them. He came, and there 
not two feet from the poor fellow, who would 
have died a second time before he would have 
seen his son hurt, they stripped Johnny and 
beat him unmercifully. Then they made him 
kneel down by his father’s body and swear that 
he would never again set foot outside of San 
Coulee ranch, as his father’s place was called ; 
and he never has. He was sick for a long time 
after that day’s bad business ; he was the only 
child ; his mother sold the ranch to Seaton, 
thinking that new scenes and experiences would 
maybe bring Johnny around again ; but nothing 
short of force could get him off the ranch. The 
doctor that Mrs. Alton consulted said that he’d 
go raving mad if she persisted in trying to get 
him away, so — there he is ! Mrs. Alton died, 
broken-hearted, in less than a year after they 
killed Kalph.” 

‘‘ What became of the sheep ?” I asked. 

The sheep ? Oh, they were scattered to the 
four winds ; mutton was cheap all over the 
7 


98 


THE GIKL KANCHERS 


country for some time after. Every one was 
free to kill a sheep wherever he came across it ; 
nobody^d dare lay claim to a herd of sheep 
that the Regulators had stampeded.’’ 

‘‘ How came it that Mr. Seaton engaged in 
the business if it is so dangerous ?” asked Aunt 
Matilda. 

He didn’t for a year or two ; hut then came 
a season or two when wool was uncommon 
profitable, and he chanced it because the feel- 
ing in regard to it had died down a good deal. 
I reckon more than one of the Regulators had 
to tussle hard with their consciences to make 
what they had done to Johnny and his folks 
seem right. Anyway, not much objection was 
raised to Seaton’s bringing in a flock, until 
within the past year, when the old trouble began 
to sizzle again.” 

But — why is it ? I don’t understand,” said 
Aunt Matilda. 

<< Why ? The cattlemen want the range for 
their cattle ; cattle raising is more profitable than 
sheep raising.” 


WHY ME. SEATON SOLD THE EANCH 99 


But surely, surely, there is room for both 

No, begging your pardon, there ain’t. Cattle 
can’t live on a range that sheep have grazed 
over ; sheep are mighty destructive to grass, they 
will eat it clean down to the roots and kill it 
out ; sheep can live after cattle all right, but not 
cattle after sheej).” 

But the sheep are now on ground that be- 
longs to us,” said Aunt Matilda. 

^‘Yes; and mighty hard on ’em it is to be 
kept penned up in that bare little upper Coulee 
valley. Seaton never would have allowed it so 
long if he had not been holding ’em to sell.” 

Do you mean that there is nothing for them 
to eat in that valley ?” 

That’s exactly what I mean.” 

But Mr. Seaton said that the two Mexican 
herders who have the flock in charge would see 
that they had good grazing ground.” 

Most times they would ; now they are 
afraid, so they hold them where, in case of an 
attack, they themselves can escape among the 
rocks.” 


100 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


Aunt Matilda stood uj). I must think this 
over/’ she said. 

It’ll bear thinking over. You see, I 
wouldn’t have told you all this without good 
reason ; I heard something at the store — there’s 
some move on foot, I don’t know just what — hut 
I do know that I wish you hadn’t bought a sheep 
ranch in a cattle country. There’s Mr. Stanley 
calling and I must be going.” 

Aunt Matilda took his hand; her face was 
very white in the moonlight. I know you 
will be our friend ; but I don’t want you to put 
yourself into danger on our account.” 

The stalwart miner held her hand closely in 
his for a moment, looking down into her face, 
and as he replied the very air seemed charged 
with his earnestness. I shall put myself into 
death on your account — if — I choose.” In an- 
other moment he was gone, striding away in the 
moonlit shadows of the trail. 

“ I do not believe life in San Coulee will be 
very monotonous,” said Aunt Matilda, grimly, 
as we returned to the house. 


CHAPTER VII 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 

It was a good thing for us and our future 
prospects that Aunt Matilda had always been 
consistent in her idea that young people should 
learn to carry their share of the burdens of life 
in the days of their youth. If she and I had 
been accustomed to a less heroic attitude we 
might have been staggered by the problem pre- 
sented by Rome Beaumont^s communication, 
but to neither of us did the notion of selling off 
the sheep appeal favorably, as we looked to 
them for a means of paying off our indebtedness 
to their former owner. Our courage, as is so 
often the case, rose to the occasion. Selling the 
sheep — when their new owners would drive them 
farther south where sheep ranching was a less 
dangerous occupation — was what Rome anx- 
iously advised in an interview that we had with 

101 


102 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


him a few days after he first told us of the dan- 
ger in which we stood. 

“ No,” Aunt Matilda told him, ‘‘ I shall not 
do that ; Elsie and I have talked it over. Try 
to think, rather, how best we can keep them. 
You don’t understand our situation, Mr. Beau- 
mont ; to lose them, to part with them at all, 
would mean simply ruin for us. We have put 
all we possessed in the world — my brother and 
I — into this sheep ranch. We shall be home- 
less if this place goes back to Mr. Seaton again, 
as it must if we do not realize something from 
the sheep.” 

‘‘ That’s settled then. But I’m terribly afraid 
you will be obliged to part with them, whether 
or no. There ain’t a better shepherd in all 
Montana than old Antonio Martinez, who, with 
his son, Jose, has charge of your flock, and he 
scents danger or he wouldn’t keep the flock 
where the only thing that there’s plenty of is 
water. Oh, Seaton knew what he was about 
when he slid out of the valley like a scared 
coyote. He was fleeing from the wrath to come. 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 


103 


and Pm afraid that’s what the Mexicans will do. 
When they are afraid to keep sheep on their 
own account they won’t he apt to tend any one’s 
flock long for wages.” 

‘‘We must hope for the best,” returned Aunt 
Matilda, firmly, “and whatever happens, Mr. 
Beaumont, we must keep this trouble from my 
brother ; he’s more apprehensive for the girls 
than I am. I know what stuff they are made of, 
and what they — or what Elsie, at least, can do 
— if worst comes to worst.” 

“ I heard when I was down at the store last 
night that you folks had been over to see Boy 
Jones’s wife,” remarked Borne with seeming 
irrelevance. 

“ Why, yes ! She’s very sick, poor thing, 
and no one hut her husband to care for her. 
He seems very fond of her, and does his best, 
but that isn’t any too good when a woman is as 
sick as she is ; she was so glad to see Florence 
and me. She’d heard some way of Florence’s 
singing — curious how much the people seem to 
know about us when we know so little about 


104 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


them/’ Aunt Matilda added in parenthesis, 
and wanted to hear her. Florence sang ‘ My 
old Kentucky home,’ and then ‘ Nearer my God 
to Thee,’ and Mrs. Jones just laid there and 
cried, poor thing !” 

Kome chuckled. ‘‘ Was Koy Jones there?” 

‘‘Yes; I am hound to say that his manner 
was far less cordial than that of his wife ; but 
he was present, and was civil, at least.” 

We were sitting in the house; 'father and 
Vevie being out for a stroll. “ I ain’t asking 
very many questions nor calling any names,” 
Rome said, eying the toe of his old, worn boot 
attentively, “ but I am bound to say that the 
credit of bearding the lion in his den belongs to 
Miss Florence. I hope that Mrs. Jones’s sick- 
ness may continue until after we harvest the 
clip. And if you are sensible you’ll keej) on 
visiting Mrs. Jones, and keep up the singing.” 

After Rome was gone that morning Aunt 
Matilda said, “ Come, Elsie, let’s go out and 
join Hugh and Vevie. I feel as though some- 
thing would happen before long and I want to 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 


105 


get acquainted with our surroundings before 
it conies. While we are out I shall stop to 
investigate every anthill and bit of clay that 
Hugh gets his eyes on, so you know we wonh 
get tired from too long a walk.’’ 

Aunt Matilda was a model housekeeper, and 
it was quite unusual for her to propose such a 
thing as leaving the house while the unwashed 
breakfast dishes remained on the table, as they 
did at that moment. I gladly accompanied her, 
and we spent a pleasant hour in wandering up 
and down the river bank with father and Vevie. 
It was so bright and pleasant out-of-doors that 
the unknown danger threatening us seemed for 
the time being scarcely more than some wild 
dream. 

We all returned to the house together, where, 
to our surprise, we found Florence busily en- 
gaged in washing the breakfast things. We had 
left her swinging comfortably in the hammock 
under the big pine, and she had declined to ac- 
company us on the ground of weariness. Now, 
Aunt Matilda believes in young people fitting 


106 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


themselves for the exercise of their own especial 
gifts — if they have any. Florence’s gift re- 
quires a light touch and a dainty hand, hence 
it had come to be an unwritten law of the family 
that she was never to be called upon to do any 
work that would blemish those useful members, 
so Aunt Matilda at once entered a protest : 
“Now why do you do that?” she exclaimed, at- 
tempting to take the dish-towel from Florence, 
who laughingly resisted. “ You’ll spoil your 
hands,” Aunt Matilda continued. 

Florence clung to the towel with one hand, 
lifting the other reddened member from the 
water, gazed at it contemplatively : “ Those 
hands, those little, little parboiled hands. Is 
there not cold water enough in San Coulee to 
make them white again ?” she cried tragically ; 
then, plunging her hands again into the water 
and continuing her task briskly, she continued 
more earnestly, “Aunt Matilda, I’ve had a rev- 
elation. It came to me partly through Mr. 
Rome’s talk — not by it, but through it like sun- 
light through a rift in the clouds — and partly 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 


107 


because the mountains are so great and I am so 
little. While I was journeying to this valley of 
blessing on the back of his ox, the revelation 
made itself clear ; it ran something like this : 
‘ Florence, you have always insisted on having 
the rough places made smooth to your feet before 
you would go forth ; you have thrown away 
golden opportunities for imj)rovement rather 
than yield an inch of your own ignorant, stiff- 
necked pride ; you have taken the cream of 
daily life and left to the unselfish ones the skim 
milk. It has become customary in your family 
to give up the best of everything to you because 
the poor creatures have deluded themselves into 
the idea that you are a genius. In other words,’’ 
she continued, seizing the skillet and plunging 
it vigorously into the water — though she ought 
to have washed the coffee cups first — ‘‘ my sel- 
fishness, my laziness, my general worthlessness, 
have all been condoned, excused, forgiven, because 
you are all so good and have a faith in me that 
no act of mine has ever justified. I don’t be- 
lieve — hand me the glasses, Vevie, dear — and 


108 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


she did wash the glasses, after the skillet, while 
Aunt Matilda shuddered but said nothing — 
that I’d ever have waked up enough to realize 
it all if we had stayed in the East. It has been 
coming to me, bit by bit, ever since we came in 
sight of the mountains ; there’s something uj)- 
lifting about them. One is ashamed to be small 
and self-seeking and vain in their presence. I’d 
hate to have that monarch,” she waved one red- 
dened hand toward the white peak gleaming 
against the eastern sky — see me making cari- 
catures of him in the holy name of art, while 
my tired Aunt Matilda and quiet, uncomplaining 
Elsie drudged away at the housework. I think 
I have it in me to become a capable housemaid, 
and I shall confine my ambition to that here- 
after.” She concluded with a flourish of the 
dish-towel, but, for all that, so much in earnest 
that there were tears in her bright eyes. Father, 
who seldom pays any heed to our liousehold talk, 
had been listening intently to her words. Now 
he spoke, and with as much earnestness as she 
herself had shown : 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 


109 


‘^Florence, do not make the fatal mistake 
of attempting to subordinate your own espe- 
cial talents to the unceasing petty demands 
of daily life. You may have been selfish, 
as you say; selfishness is a common fault 
of youth; you have, perhaps, allowed bur- 
dens that you should have helped to carry to 
fall heavily upon other more yielding should- 
ers, and you have turned in distrust from the 
things that belong especially to you, things 
that you can do more than well, that with 
a little conscientious effort you might become 
pre-eminent in. And why? Just because you 
could not, at a bound, do what those who at- 
tempted to instruct you, only acquired the skill 
to do by long and patient practice. You have 
not had the courage and perseverance to attempt 
to reach your own high ideal. For that I blame 
you, and for nothing else. The monotonous 
round of household tasks that you now claim 
shall be the goal of your ambition, can be done 
just as well by other hands ; will be done, next 
week, next year, a century hence when we are 


110 


THE GIKL KANCHEKS 


all in our graves ; and that you have done them 
once will be of no more moment than that last 
summer a vagrant wind played among our pine 
trees. But the picture that you might paint, 
the song that your voice might give to the world 
may be an inspiration, an incentive to a better 
life long after we have moldered into dust. A 
strain of music, a beautiful picture, may become 
the ministers of consolation that will lift a 
stricken heart as high as heaven. You might, 
from your new standpoint, say with equal justice 
that we are selfish since we have always done all 
in our power to encourage you, to leave you free 
for the exercise of your beautiful gifts ; our sel- 
fishness consisted in the expectation that we 
would be entertained and cheered by them. I 
do not undervalue those small necessary house- 
hold tasks, which, if left undone, would render 
us all miserable. You do not decry painting ; 
you do not, as I have heard you claim, murder 
music, but you do do both when you say that you 
will give them up in order to — ’’ 

Til do both, papa,’’ interrupted Florence, 


A CHANGE OF OPINION 


111 


earnestly. I’ll be a good, helpful girl and a 
faithful student, too, you see if I don’t.” 

As for giving up your music,” put in Aunt 
Matilda, briskl}^ as she possessed herself of the 
dish-towel. You can’t do that ; not while Mrs. 
Jones is sick ; Mr. Beaumont makes it a point 
that you shall sing to her often.” 

Why ?” asked Florence. 

‘‘ He didn’t say why ; I suppose he has his 
reasons.” And I, recalling Home’s chuckle, 
remembered at the same time the old saying 
anent the power of music over the savage breast. 

Father, smiling at Florence’s vehemence, took 
up a book and was soon lost to all outward im- 
pressions ; but Aunt Matilda presently remarked 
to me in a kind of glorified aside : 

I doubt if our venture will prove an entire 
failure, Elsie, even if the sheep ranch does dis- 
appoint us,” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A VISIT FROM THE MEXICAN SHEPHERDS 

The book that father was poring over was an 
old botany. He had found a very curious flower 
during our walk, and was intent on classifying 
it. It was a beautiful blossom, not unlike a day 
lily in structure and odor, but very much 
smaller ; and, if possible, of a more pearly 
whiteness. The flower springs directly from 
the sod, dispensing with the usual accessories 
of stem and leaf. Seeing him so absorbed in 
his congenial task I was thankful enough that 
only Aunt Matilda and I knew why poor 
Johnny Alton’s intellect had not kept pace with 
his bodily growth, and that it was on our hearts 
alone that the thought of the sheep starving in 
the upper valley rested so heavily ; for, in spite 
of all Aunt Matilda’s devices to cheat herself 
into cheerfulness, we thought of little else. 
Along in the forenoon, while Florence was 
112 


A VISIT FROM THE SHEPHERDS 113 

devising some picture canvases, and Vevie was 
seriously engaged in helping father to dissect 
the new flower, she said to me : 

“ Do you remember, Elsie, Rome said that we 
could get a glimpse of that valley and probably 
of the sheep if we cared to climb to the top of 
that low mountain north of us. ‘ Top of the 
hogback,’ he called it. I’ve been thinking that 
I’ll go up this afternoon.” 

It will be a rough climb,” I said, looking 
up at the elevation in question, with its acres 
of rocks and dwarfed jack oaks, ‘‘ but I’ll go 
with you.” 

I said it would be a rough climb, but rough 
was a mild word to use in describing it. The 
way would not have been quite so fearfully beset 
with poison oak, jack oak, briers, loose shale, and 
cactus, if we had taken the short, steep path that 
the herders sometimes used, although even they 
greatly preferred to follow the winding upward 
trail along which it was possible to ride a horse, 
notwithstanding it was some two miles longer. 
But we did not know of it. There were many 
8 


114 


THE GIEL RANCHEKS 


things that we poor Eastern ignoramuses were 
left to learn through bitter experience. Half- 
way up the steep ascent, which from the valley 
did not look to be half so steep or so high as it 
really was, we came upon an inviting looking 
bed of low green vines. It appeared so soft 
and tempting that aunt, who was a few steps 
in advance, called back to me : ‘‘ I’m going to 
sit down here and rest awhile, Elsie.” Imme- 
diately I heard a cry of anguish : ‘‘Elsie! Oh, 
it’s nettles ! I plucked some and oh, my poor 
hands 1” Her hands were bare and the palms 
were so full of stings that they seemed suddenly 
to have clothed themselves in a new kind of 
fine hair. 

“We’d better go back,” I said, staring at her 
helplessly while she waved her burning hands 
in agony. 

“ I won’t go back, for a little thing like this. 
I’ll know a nettle next time I see it, though, 
and I’ll know another thing. There’s an old 
saw that runs : 


A VISIT FROM THE SHEPHERDS 115 

‘Tender handed stroke a nettle, 

And it stings you for your pains ; 

Grasp it like a man of mettle, 

And it soft as silk remains.’ 

I grasped them like a man of mettle, but they 
didn’t feel like silk. There’s this virtue in a 
nettle sting, though, it doesn’t last long; it’s 
like putting one’s hands into fire while it does 
last. We’ll be more careful after this!” 

We were so very careful that our caution re- 
tarded our progress, for, scenting danger now in 
the most innocent shrubs, we dared not avail our- 
selves of the strong branches of the jack oaks as 
we had been doing, to help us in climbing, but 
worked our way upward laboriously on hands 
and knees when we could keep our footing in 
no other way. At length, with the last remain- 
ing bit of strength we reached the craggy sum- 
mit together, and, looking down on the other 
side, we both uttered a startled ‘‘Oh!” We 
had ascended the northern side of the mountain 
which had — from a Montana point of view — 
a good deal of vegetation, but the opposite. 


116 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


southern slope seemed to our unaccustomed eyes 
as bare of everything as the palm of one’s hand, 
save a chaotic jumble of rocks, scrub oaks, and 
scraggy pines. How could any grazing animal 
live in such a barren spot ? Something did live 
there, however. It seemed to me in the first 
moment of amazed contemplation, that the little 
walled-ill valley held millions and millions of 
sheej) ; they were everywhere. They swarmed 
up the hillsides — and were only restrained from 
swarming over it, I quickly observed, by the 
vigilant watchfulness of a shaggy, rough looking 
dog, who went dashing hither and thither, 
bringing back to the lower slope any animal 
that strayed farther away than he thought ad- 
visable. Presently we descried two swarthy 
looking men lounging in the shadow of a huge 
rock, near what was probably their camj^, a rude 
little cabin of unhewn logs ; sometimes one or 
the other of them shouted a word of direction 
or command, I suppose, for I observed that the 
collie altered his course, or stood obediently 
listening whenever either spoke. Fortunately, 



IT SEEMED AS IF THE VALLEY HELD MILLIONS OF SHEEP 

(Page ii6.) 




A VISIT FROM The shepherds 117 

the odd foreign words stuck in my memory, 
though I did not understand their meaning. 

Aunt Matilda, standing by my side, watched 
the scene with kindling eyes. Shall we give 
them up to the rustlers, Elsie ?’’ she whispered. 

“ Not until weVe tried keeping them, aunt.’’ 

I don’t believe matters are quite so bad as 
Rome would have us think, anyway,” she said 
after a thoughtful pause, during which we had 
both been attentively studying the situation. 
‘‘ But, Elsie, we must get the poor things out on 
the plains ; to the summer range that we have 
leased. I wonder if you and Florence could 
stand it to ride up here to-morrow and make 
those men understand that we want the sheep 
taken to better pasturage?” 

‘AVe can certainly ride up here. Aunt Ma- 
tilda. You know we’ve been riding every day 
for three weeks now, but I very much doubt 
our being able to make the Mexicans under- 
stand that we want the sheep taken outside the 
valley, or anything else.” 

^^That is an objection. I wish we understood 


118 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Spanish ; we might buy a Spanish grammar, or 
a conversation book/’ 

‘‘ We’d better buy a pair of them ; then we 
can hand one to the herder while we study the 
other ; it wouldn’t seem just right to hurl our 
new-made Spanish at him when he has nothing 
at hand to defend himself with.” 

You may laugh ; but, I tell you, one of us 
must begin taking lessons at once.” 

Aunt Matilda, have you ever noticed that 
everything we have undertaken since we first 
heard of Mr. Seaton has been ‘ at once ’?” 

That is true ; we have been forced to keep 
up a pretty lively pace, and there is no drawing 
back now.” 

No ; I’m not feeling as though I wanted to 
draw back, either.” 

'' It’s bound to be a hard experience for you 
two girls, Elsie. If only Donald had been as 
true to us as we to him what a blessing he 
would be to us now ! But it’s useless to regret 
Donald. We have to depend solely on our- 
selves.” It was the first reference she had made 


A VISIT FROM THE SHEPHEKDS 119 

to Donald’s perfidy, and it was not made with- 
out emotion. We stood in silence for some 
minutes longer Avatcliing the scene below us, 
and then, turning homeward, made our toilsome 
way down the mountain. The downward path 
is, however, proverbially easier to travel than 
the one leading upward, and so it proved in our 
case ; still we were so weary and disheveled 
when we reached home that father observed in- 
quiringly : ‘‘You have been for a long walk ?” 

“ Yes,” we replied. 

“ Don’t exert yourselves beyond your 
strength ; we shall have plenty of time for 
exploration.” 

Our little sitting room was a cozy and invit- 
ing place. I was thinking so that evening as 
father and Vevie sat by the table carefully 
placing between sheets of wrapping paper some 
flowers that they had gathered, intent on pre- 
serving them by pressing. Florence, in the 
dusky corner by the organ, was softly touching 
the keys, making a low accompaniment to the 
pleasant silence — for little was said. Johnny, 


120 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


whom one was apt to forget until he spoke — 
his silent presence was so unobtrusive — said 
suddenly : 

“ Some one knocked.’’ Another of Johnny’s 
traits was a fear to open the door for a stranger. 
He knew Rome’s frequent knock well enough 
to distinguish it from all others. I opened the 
door. Two swarthy men in picturesque dress 
were standing on the threshold. I recognized 
them as our herders even before the elder, 
speaking in halting English, proclaimed the 
fact. In response to father’s invitation they 
entered the room timidly, and with furtive 
glances like the shy, half-tamed dwellers of the 
wilderness that they were, unheeding, or at 
least ignoring, the seats offered them, the elder 
began : 

Me — I — come to say at you ; sheep no 
more; no more.” 

The younger and smaller herder appeared to 
indorse this speech, whatever it might mean, by 
twisting one leg around the other and writhing 
uneasily as he stood. 


■ A VISIT FROM THE SHEPHERDS 121 

Oil, is it possible !” cried father, much 
shocked. '' Why, Matilda, I gather from 
what this man says that our sheep are all 
dead r 

Apparently the herder understood English 
much better than he could speak it. 

“ No, senor ; no dead,’’ lie said, gravely. 
‘‘ The sheeps, they live ; but of them we 
no more watch — we — what you would say, 
vamose.” 

And if I said it I’m sure I shouldn’t know 
what it meant; what does it mean?” father 
asked him. 

If means — ” the Mexican studied a moment 
in perplexity, no more we stay at the tail of 
the sheep ; we go.” 

“ Why ?” father asked, and Aunt Matilda 
leaned forward with whitening cheeks, more 
afraid of what might be revealed to father than 
of the thing itself, but with no possible excuse 
for interference. The younger Mexican who had 
been holding his hat deferentially in one hand, 
now grasped it tightly in both, holding it over 


122 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


liis heart as if fearful that that organ might 
jump out while his senior replied: It is no 

good for any man to keep the sheeps/’ 

The man is probably dissatisfied with the 
wages ; let him go. There are plenty of others, 
Hugh,” advised Aunt Matilda, who could hold 
her peace no longer. 

‘‘Well, but, Matilda, they must stay until we 
can engage some one else ; why, it’s absurd, the 
idea of their leaving in this way ! See here,” 
he continued in a tone of remonstrance, turning 
again to the Mexican. “ You’ll have to stay 
with us a few days longer, my friend, whether 
or no. You must give us time to get another 
herder before you leave us in the lurch.” 

The Mexican shook his head gently but in- 
flexibly. “ There was no more herder as you 
could get ; no more at all.” 

“ Now see here,” father said in rising excite- 
ment, “ I paid you, through Mr. Seaton, who 
advised it, and very ill-advised it seems to have 
been — two months’ wages in advance ; only five 
weeks of that time has passed. I don’t propose 


A VISIT FROM THE SHEPHERDS 123 

to allow you to keep your money and desert 
your place in this way.’’ 

For answer the herder slowly drew near the 
table, and thrusting his hand into a pocket hid- 
den somewhere within his fluttering garments, 
pulled out a roll of grimy bills, and, unrolling 
it, proceeded to count it out on the table, divid- 
ing it into two heaps as he did so. ‘‘ Uno, dos, 
tres, cuatro, cinco, seis,” he counted slowly and 
with careful deliberation ; then he again rolled 
up one diminished pile, pocketed it, and shoved 
the other two toward father. That much we 
have not work ; here it is.” 

Father counted the bills. That’s right ; but 
why do you leave ?” 

‘‘Sefior,” returned the Mexican, with great ear- 
nestness, it is that we must. Me ? I was sor- 
rowful to leave the senor in difiicult’, but my 
hermosa — my brother and me — not yet were we 
ready to die.” The younger herder nodded his 
head in solemn corroboration of this statement, 
and the elder went on, “To keep the sheeps 
it is not now best if that one wishes to live.” 


124 


THE GIUL RANCHERS 


Father had nothing to say in answer to this 
remarkable statement, and the herder made his 
adieus with punctilious politeness — the adieus 
being repeated by the younger with the grave 
accuracy of a parrot reciting a lesson. Then 
turning toward the door, they opened it and 
disaj^peared. 

‘‘ I dare say it’s some heathenish idea of pen- 
ance, or making a pilgrimage, or a flagellation 
that they’ve got into their heads,” father was 
saying, vaguely, when the door again opened 
and the elder Mexican thrust his face and one 
hand into the room. The extended hand held 
out the soiled but picturesque garment that we 
had seen but a moment before upon his shoul- 
ders. 

Felix, he guard; guard against all. White 
man, no man touches sheep while Felix live 
unless he show this at him and tell him, Felix, 
perlita, it is well ; then he obey all that a white 
man say.” 

He tossed the poncho at father’s feet and again 
vanished. 


A VISIT FKOM THE SHEPHERDS 125 

“Felix is the dog/’ observed Aunt Matilda, 
touching the not too cleanly garment with the 
toe of her slipper. “Well, I only hope he’ll 
prove more faithful than the men have done.” 
She gathered up the poncho after a moment’s 
silent contemplation. I thought she was about 
to hang it out on the porch, but instead she 
hung it carefully behind the door of the room 
in which she slept. “ I hope he has another,” 
she remarked ; “ the nights are cold.” 


CHAPTER IX 


INEXPEKIENCED HERDEES 

Father’s health had so much improved 
during our few weeks’ stay in the valley that 
he had been able, with Johnny’s help, to con- 
struct a kind of kiln — Johnny would persist in 
calling it an oven — for testing the various kinds 
of clay that he found in his daily walks. He 
was so interested in the manufacture of his 
bricks, literally bricks without straw, hence the 
patent for earthenware houses,” as he called 
the ultimate design of all this experimenting — 
that I am afraid we counted quite confidently 
upon his forgetting all about the starving sheep 
without a shepherd in that lonely valley, three 
miles away, but we did him injustice. After a 
hasty breakfast, Florence and I, very early in 
the morning, hurried out to the barn to super- 
vise the saddling of our respective ponies. 
Father was there before us. We had supposed 
126 


INEXPEKIENCED HERDERS 127 

he was. still in bed. ‘‘I got the start of you, 
didn’t I ?” he said smiling. “ I have a shrewd 
suspicion that you two meant to steal away and 
leave your useless old father behind, but he’s 
going with you.” 

‘‘ It’ll be such a hard ride for you, Hugh,” 
protested Aunt Matilda, who had discovered his 
absence from the house, and advanced to the 
rescue. 

‘‘ Any harder for me, Matilda, than for these 
girls ?” 

“ Why, yes, of course it will be ; they’re used 
to riding, and you are not.” 

I was once a good rider, and I think the old 
skill will come back with a little practice.” 

But, Hugh, it looks like rain ; see those 
clouds hanging around Mount Kenneth ! You 
are not able to go ; what if you should get wet ?” 

What if Florence and Elsie should get wet? 
Gome, Matilda, I’m pretty obedient, as a gen- 
eral thing, but you can’t always coddle me as 
you would a year-old baby. Johnny, get Chris 
saddled while I’m eating breakfast.” 


128 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


Chris no good/’ said Johnny, surveying the 
yellow buckskin with marked disfavor. 

Why do you say that?” asked father, paus- 
ing on his way to the house. 

Johnny was seldom able to give a reason ; he 
could not now, but shook his head dolefully, 
repeating, Chris no good.” 

I’ll risk him; get him ready,” and he went 
into the house. 

It will be so nice to have father go,” said 
Florence, who did not yet understand how mat- 
ters stood, although Aunt Matilda and I, in 
secret council, had decided that she was to be 
enlightened as soon as an opportunity offered. 
I had hoped that it would offer while we 
were riding to the upjoer San Coulee, but 
father’s going put an end to that, and, as it was, 
I was rather glad that she did not yet know. 
We mounted our horses at the barn and then 
rode up to the house with Johnny, who was 
leading Chris. Father came out with a book in 
his hand, which he thrust into the pocket of his 
saddle. Herding sheep is rather a monotonous 


INEXPERIENCED HERDERS 


129 


business,” lie remarked, after we were fairly 
on the road. A shepherd would have plenty 
of time to get a good education if he could only 
manage it himself.” 

Well, I don’t know that I would care to try 
for an education in that way,” returned Flor- 
ence saucily ; besides, while I was studying, 
what would my sheep be doing ?” 

Oh, the sheep ! It’s not much trouble to 
watch them ; the shepherd sits on a rock — ” 
“ or a camp chair, if there’s no rock handy,” 
interpolated Florence — on a rock with his 
faithful dog beside him, and if any member of 
the flock is inclined to stray from the fold the 
obedient animal, at a given signal — ” 

Florence laughed outright. ‘‘Papa, you’ve 
got a good memory ; that’s in the ‘ Swiss 
Mountaineers.’ ” 

“ Is it ? Well, I wasn’t quite sure myself that 
it was original.” 

The trail was a plain one, although rough, 
and father rode very much better than we had 
thought he could. It was a beautiful morning, 
9 


130 


THE GIEL RANCHEKS 


SO early yet that the jack oak thickets through 
which we brushed showed a single great dew- 
drop, like a sparkling diamond, at the tip of 
each sharp-pointed leaf, and, as we journeyed 
higher up, passing underneath the overhanging 
branches of the pine trees, the stiff pine needles 
rained down a cool, balsamic shower upon us. 
From the nearer canons heavy clouds of white 
va2:)or ascended, the tribute of the always chilly 
night to the approaching warmth of day. The 
trail wound upward steadily ; it was longer than 
I had supposed — three miles of upward climb- 
ing is a very much longer distance than the 
same measure laid out on the level plains. Our 
progress was slow, but it was to all so strange, so 
new, so beautiful, that at every little park-like 
opening we stopped to look about us. From 
the dark depths of a canon on our left the voice 
of the rushing river sounded, foaming and fret- 
ting at the obstructions that came in its way on 
its tumultuous rush to the plains. The sun, as 
we could see from our airy outlook, was shining 
full upon the plains, though the valley was still 


INEXPEKIENCED HEKDEKS 


131 


in shadow. As we looked, first one long shaft 
of golden light, then another and another, 
touched the higher peaks and dropped softly 
down and down into the valley, a growing, 
expanding sheen of glory, dispersing and put- 
ting the shadows to flight. The combinations 
of shifting, changing color, as the sunlight 
fell upon the clouds of vapor rolling up from 
the canons were wonderful, ethereal, elusive, in- 
describable. 

“ Up to the hills will I lift mine eyes ; will 
lift mine eyes sang Florence, jubilantly. She 
stopped abruptly, her rose-tinted cheeks blanch- 
ing. What was that 

It was the sound made by hundreds of small, 
sharp little hoofs as they went scurrying away in 
a panic. With the sound was mingled the angry, 
excited barking of a dog, as, judging from the 
sound, he darted hither and thither among the 
hurrying hoofs. 

‘‘That, I judge, is a little commotion among 
sheep,’’ said father, pressing forward, “and, yes, 
here they are.” 


132 


THE GIKL EANCHERS 


There they were, truly ! The rocky shoulder 
around which we had just ridden had its 
counterpart on the other side. The long, flank- 
ing spurs of two near mountains coming close 
together and ending abruptly in perpendicular 
walls of rock, formed a narrow, natural gateway 
to the valley. The encircling mountains rose 
sheer and close on every hand, and this narrow 
pass was the only practicable outlet to the lower 
valley, although there was a wider outlet on the 
farther, southern extremity. All this we learned 
later ; just now we were being strongly urged to 
define our position. The sheep were scattering 
up the mountain sides in all directions, bleating 
in terror, for such was the effect that Florence’s 
exquisite voice had had on the foolish creatures, 
and the disgusted dog, abandoning a futile 
but heroic attempt to reduce them to order, 
turned his attention to us, the intruders who 
had stolen upon his charges while the shepherds 
were absent. He was thus called upon to decide, 
according to the light of experience, whether 
we were to be regarded as friends or foes. 


INEXPERIENCED HERDERS 


133 


Apparently his experience had not been favora- 
ble to confidence. He regarded us as enemies, and 
conducted himself accordingly. Father, whose 
long legs dangled dangerously near the ground 
as he sat upon the small yellow broncho, pulled 
his grizzled mustache, thoughtfully contem- 
plating the dog, who had taken his position 
beside a rock a few feet in advance of us, and 
was evidently prepared to maintain that position 
with the sacrifice of his life if need be. Father 
then remarked in a tone more of sorrow than of 
anger : 

This is a queer predicament ; the dog thinks 
weVe no business here ; he may be right, but I 
wish we could hit upon some way of explaining 
the situation to him. Didn’t the man say his 
name was Felix?” 

There was no occasion for a reply from either 
of us. At the sound of hig own name the collie 
dropped his defiant tail and bristling hair, 
stopped barking, and looked inquiringly, yet 
doubtfully in father’s face. Good dog ! Good 
Felix !” said father, urging Chris to take 


134 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


another step forward. But Felix was not to be 
taken off his guard ; he growled angrily, his 
eyes gleaming fiercely, and father stopped. 
Then, suddenly, I thought of the Mexican’s 
poncho that Aunt Matilda had rolled into a 
compact little bundle and tied to my saddle. 
Untying it, I shook it out and sprang from my 
horse, and cautiously advanced toward the 
collie, who, ceasing his warlike demonstrations, 
was silently observing my movements. 

Now it is not given to all people to be under- 
stood and beloved by dogs, but I am proud to 
say that I have never failed in securing their 
friendship when I tried. So now, as I con- 
tinued, in spite of the whispered remonstrance 
of the others,- to walk toward poor Felix, I was 
not at all afraid, in spite of his angry eyes. I 
held the poncho out to him, saying, Felix, 
come ! Good Felix, come !” The poor fellow 
advanced a step; smelled of the garment, and 
looked up at me appealingly, it seemed to my 
excited fancy, even reproachfully, and I won- 
dered whimsically if he suspected me of having 


INEXPERIENCED HERDERS 


135 


made way with the missing shepherds. Then, 
laying his body on the ground, he writhed up 
to my feet, and, with his nose on his paws, 
whined imploringly. I stopped and patted his 
head. Good Felix was all that I could say, 
it was enough ; henceforth he recognized my 
right to command, while he simply accorded a 
cold toleration to the others, who had disdained 
the Mexican’s card of introduction. 

Thrilled with my success with the guardian 
of the flock, I recalled the uncomprehended 
words that had floated up to my ears as I gazed 
down into the valley the day before ; they were 
directions to the dog which the herder issued at 
his indolent ease, but with instant effect. I 
reasoned sagely that the collie would under- 
stand their meaning if I did not. The sheep 
were still scattering wildly up the mountain 
slopes. ‘‘Ve alia! ve alia, Felix!” I cried, 
plunging recklessly into Spanish. The effect 
was electrifying. Away and up the mountain 
the collie darted, scrambling over rocks, through 
brush and fallen trees until he had circled 


136 


THE GIBL EANCHEBS 


around the fleeing sheep and brought them to a 
standstill ; then he stopped, perched on a rock 
high above, and peered inquiringly at me. 

‘‘ He’s waiting for further orders, Elsie,” cried 
Florence, laughing. ‘‘Come, you’ve won his 
allegiance, and now air your Spanish a little 
more — I suppose it’s Spanish, though I doubt if 
one of the hidalgos would admit it — and tell the 
poor fellow what to do next.” 

“ They are only the calls that I heard the 
shepherds using when Aunt Matilda and I were 
up in the mountain yesterday. I remembered 
the sound ; I think perhaps I’d better try an- 
other.” 

“ Do,” urged father. “We may learn some- 
thing if the collie don’t, and of the lot of us we 
stand the most in need of enlightenment.” 

“ Cuidado !” I cried imperatively, but that 
was plainly a mistake. Felix bounded from his 
post, running to and fro along the outer edges 
of the flock, evidently in anxious search of some 
fancied danger, that I made haste to hurl an- 
other Spanish morsel at him. “ Reloj, Felix !” 


INEXPERIENCED HERDERS 


137 


Instantly the dog, abandoning his air of strained 
attention, sat down upon his haunches and dis- 
posed himself to keeping watch comfortably. 

‘‘ That was right, Ihn sure, whatever it 
meant,’’ said father. “ It’s a pity the poor brute 
don’t understand English at all.” 

I don’t think he’s a brute, father,” I could 
not help saying reproachfully, and I’m sure he 
can learn anything he wishes. I’ll undertake 
his education in English,” which I did from that 
day and with such success that, before the season 
was over, I reckoned my collie an accomplished 
linguist, as collies go. 

We decided, as the sheep were now grazing 
peaceably, to leave them to Felix while we 
amused ourselves by investigating the herder’s 
cabin. The herders had left in haste, but 
they had taken all of their few personal effects 
with them. There was not, seemingly, a 
scrap of anything left in the cabin save a 
dirty water bucket, a few rusty tin cans, and a 
small pile of firewood. In one corner was a 
fireplace, built Mexican fashion, and in this we 


138 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


were presently making a fire, not that we needed 
it, but as a kind of provision for the future. 
The sunny sky had already become overcast, 
and the rain that Aunt Matilda presaged, seemed 
imminent. We had brought long ropes, or 
lariats, with which to tether the horses, intending 
to stake them out on the grass, but there was no 
grass for them. They would not even make a 
pretense of eating, but looked after us expectantly 
wherever we went ; evidently longing to take the 
homeward trail. 

We had brought lunch for ourselves and a 
substantial dinner for Felix. We ate our lunch 
outside the cabin at noon — for even the attrac- 
tive little fireplace could not reconcile us to the 
too pronounced smell of the cabin — and then I 
called Felix down to eat his meal. He came, 
reluctantly and with an apologetic air as though 
doing something unusual. He knew, as I did 
not, that he ought not to leave the flock, but he 
had just sworn allegiance to me and he came. 
Soon a warning peal of thunder came from a 
cloud hanging over the mountains, and great 


INEXPEEIENCED HERDERS 


139 


drops of rain began to fall. Florence and I 
made haste to bring our saddles into the cabin, 
and, throwing them down before the fire, we 
used them as seats while father occupied the 
stool that the Mexicans had left just outside the 
door. He had placed the stool near the open 
doorway and was soon lost to all else in rapt con- 
templation of the alternately darkening and 
brightening crest of the opposite mountain, as 
the storm of wind and rain swept over it. 

I was secretly worried by the behavior of the 
dog, who lingered just outside the door, occa- 
sionally looking in at us wistfully and whining. 

I don’t believe our cookery agrees with 
Felix,” remarked Florence at last; “he acts 
as if he were sick.” She picked up a billet 
of wood as she spoke and tossed it on the fire. 
Underneath the stick a fragment of soiled writ- 
ing paper was lying, and she picked that up, 
too, tendering it to me daintily. “ Here, here’s 
something with writing on it ; perhaps it’s in 
Spanish ; shall we call the dog in to help trans- 
late ?” But the happy laughter died out of her 


140 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


eyes as she looked at me and observed my face, 
which I felt was blanching. I read the note 
and knew why the herders had been in such 
haste to leave : 

“To Juan and Antonio Baca,’’ it began, for 
it was written in English, “ Take notice, you 
two Mexican coyotes ! If either of you are found 
in this valley twenty-four hours from now you’ll 
be shot at sight ; take notice and govern your- 
selves accordingly.” 

I passed the note to Florence. “ What does 
it mean ? Do you know ?” she whispered. I 
nodded yes. 

Just then father’s voice broke the silence: 
“ The mountain heights ! How wild, how mys- 
tical they seem ; now hidden by ragged clouds, 
now standing out clearly in the sunlight ; even 
those small white animals that seem to be going 
up among the clouds in an endless procession 
add to the wildness of the scene.” 

With a startled cry I broke into his day 
dream. Those small white animals that gave 
wildness to the scene were our sheep, fleeing 


INEXPERIENCED HERDERS 


141 


wildly as if in fear, and disappearing over tlie 
mountain's rocky crest like the mist that had 
so lately hung there ; and all, I told myself bit- 
terly in the first moment of self-abasement, be- 
cause I had forgotten to put on guard poor 
faithful Felix, who had for the last two hours 
been begging for orders. 


CHAPTEE X 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 

Darting by father, I ran out and poured into 
Felixes willing ears all the orders that I could 
recall in one disjointed, passionate volley. “ Ve 
alia! De una Vex! Cuidado ! Eeloj !’^ I 
shouted wildly. Fortunately Felix knew what 
to do — all he had waited for was the permission 
to do it. Half the flock were by this time out 
of sight. Even to our unaccustomed eyes the 
task before Felix appeared so hopeless that we 
made no move to go to his aid. 

“If we could only get around on the other 
side and shoo them back !” exclaimed Florence, 
hopelessly. Father thought a moment. “I 
believe that is the only feasible thing to do,’’ he 
said, presently. “ We’d better saddle up and 
get after them as soon as possible.” We were 
presently on the trail again, looking carefully 
along either side for some place in which to get 
142 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


143 


down and make the detour around the moun- 
tains that father suggested. Felix had not at- 
tempted to drive the sheep that were yet in sight 
down to the valley again, but was after the runa- 
ways. We could hear his bark growing faint 
and fainter as we rode down the trail. 

‘‘This will never do,’’ father said at last, 
drawing rein. “We must take the first break 
in the hills that we come to and get to that dog’s 
assistance.” The break came soon in the form 
of an innocent seeming gully that, dipping 
downward at a pretty sharp angle, lost itself in 
a tangle of poplar and quaking aspens. Down 
it we rode, and forced our way through the pop- 
lar thicket, getting drenched to the skin by the 
water that still dripped from the overhanging 
boughs. It seemed so reckless for father to 
allow himself to get wet in this way that both 
Florence and I urged him to go back, but he 
would not listen to us. “ Push on, children,” 
he insisted; “we’ll be out of this soon.” We 
soon were out of it, and we found ourselves 
at the bottom of a gorge with rocky, nearly 


144 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


perpendicular walls, towering higher and higher 
at every step. 

This does not seem to be a very popular 
route to the other side,’’ remarked Florence, 
who was in the lead, as she urged the unwilling 
bronchQ slowly forward. 

Wait !” cried father. Listen ! I’m afraid 
we are going away from the sheep rather than 
toward them. Do you hear the dog !” We did 
not, but decided to press forward a few steps 
farther. The way soon grew so difficult that 
father again called a halt. The gorge was dark, 
damp, and cold, and he was shivering. 

“ Eeally, girls, I’m afraid we’ll have to give 
it up ; we are so unused to the mountain trails 
that — ” 

Hello ! hello, down there ! What you 
doin’,” called a voice from above. The voice 
was harsh, there was a suspicion of a sneer in it, 
but Florence brightened. 

It’s our friend, the husband of Mrs. Jones,” 
she ejaculated, while father, lifting his own 
voice explained our position and purpose. 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


145 


“ Where does this gorge lead to, anyway T’ he 
asked in conclusion. 

“ It don’t lead ; it loses,” returned the hoarse 
tones of the saturnine Jones. ‘‘If you keep 
right on you’ll find out for yourselves before 
long. You’ll be traveling out to the plains on 
the current of the Eio San Coulee, for there 
ain’t room for a horse to get down airy other 
way; but you won’t know it. There hain’t 
nothing ever got through that canon alive that 
ever I heard of.” 

We had by this time located the voice, or the 
owner of it. He was standing on the verge of 
a cliff ; the vegetation was so dense that only 
his head and shoulders were visible, against the 
gray background of a sky that was still half 
disposed to shed rainy tears he looked not unlike 
a colossal, ill-natured cherub. We turned our 
horses about, and rode as straight homeward as 
the very crooked trail would admit of. Felix 
and the sheep were for the nonce left to their 
fate. We hoped that Rome might call that 
evening, and our hopes were realized. He was 
10 


146 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


plainly very mucli disturbed by what he* heard, 
but he wasted no time in lamentations. No 
sooner was the story told than he arose from 
his chair, saying, “ 141 go out to the stable with 
Johnny and tackle up one of your horses if you 
don’t mind. I reckon the sooner some one is 
on the trail of those sheep the more of them 
there will be left.” 

Why, but surely, you won’t think of going 
to-night ?” objected father. “ I feel your kind- 
ness deeply, but it seems to me it is imposing 
upon it to ask you to go out to-night after a 
flock of runaway sheep.” 

You haven’t asked me ; I’m going whether 
or no,” returned Eome, sturdily. “ You see, 
Mr. Stanley, what between wolves and mountain 
lions, and — other things, there won’t be four 
hundred hoofs left if we let ’em run loose a few 
hours longer.” 

‘‘You don’t mean that wild animals would 
destroy over three thousand sheep in one night !” 
exclaimed father, aghast. 

“ No ; but I do mean that they’d scatter four 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


147 


times that number to the four winds, so that it 
would take weeks to get together again what 
there was left of them. Sheep that are kept on 
a mountain range have got to be watched,’^ he 
concluded, with significant emphasis. 

‘‘I’ll take your horse. Luck, if you don’t 
mind. Miss Elsie.” 

Now I was very anxious for an opj)ortunity 
to speak to Lome alone, for I was sure, from his 
manner and worried looks, that he saw some- 
thing besides an accident in the stampede of our 
sheep. His electing to take Luck gave me the 
chance I was waiting for. 

“ Then I’ll go out to the barn with you and 
tell him that he mustn’t hurt you.” 

“ All right ; I reckon you can get that into 
,his head better than I can.” 

As he strode out at the front door I followed 
him ; but I had time to observe that Aunt Ma- 
tilda had suddenly disappeared into the kitchen, 
whence another door opened in the direction of 
the barn, and it was no surprise to find her 
already awaiting us when we got there. Rome 


148 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


dismissed Johnny when he saw Aunt Matilda. 

You may go in, Johnny ; 141 get along all 
right.’’ And Johnny, who had heard and un- 
derstood just enough of what had occurred to 
render him more timid than usual, gladly 
obeyed. 

“ I’ve been wondering how I could get to 
speak to you and not let your father know,” 
Rome said, as Johnny got out of earshot. ‘‘ I 
wanted to ask you again about the way the 
sheep went. Did you say they seemed fright- 
ened?” 

‘‘Yes; and there was nothing to frighten 
them that I could see.” 

“ That you could see. That’s right, I reckon ; 
but if some one who wanted to put ’em in mo- 
tion had been crawling along among the bushes 
and in the shadows of the rocks the sheep would 
a been apt to see it ; that was what was done. 
You said that the dog was angry. What was 
there for him to be angry about in the sheep 
just getting a little out of bounds? It’s been a 
good day’s work. Miss Elsie, that you folks went 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK: 


149 


up there to-day. I hain’t a doubt but what it 
saved the life of the dog.” 

‘‘ How so ?” asked Aunt Matilda. 

The dog is a good deal in the way when it 
conies to running the sheep off quietly ; if you 
hadn’t a gone up and got there in good season, 
too, the skulking cowards as their first move 
would a shot him, but finding you there they 
had to be more cautious.” 

‘‘ Oh, I think you must be mistaken ; I think 
it must have been an accident,” said Aunt Ma- 
tilda, almost imploringly. 

“We might jest as well face the truth first as 
last,” declared Rome, and that big helpful “ we ” 
thrilled my heart, although I felt that it was 
selfish to allow this man to take our troubles 
upon his shoulders only because they were will- 
ing ; we had no claim on him, but we were in 
desperate need of his aid. 

I had not yet told Aunt Matilda of the note 
we found in the herder’s cabin ; now I told of 
it, to her dismay, but Rome was not at all sur- 
prised. “I was just as sure that the cattlemen 


loO 


THE GIUL RANCHERS 


had a hand in this day’s work before you told 
of that, Miss Elsie, as I am now. They are 
trying to drive you out quietly ; I reckon they 
don’t want to be too savage with a lot of women 
folks. I hope. Miss Florence, and you. Miss 
Stanley, keep on visiting Mrs. Jones,” he added 
in an irrelevant parenthesis, and I’m afraid 
you won’t get any herders either.” Father had 
told him that we proposed looking for some the 
next day. ‘^Antonio and Juan Baca would take 
more risk for a flock of sheep than any other 
Mexicans that ever I saw ; if they have thrown 
up the job, it’s thrown up for good as far as the 
Mexicans are concerned ; they are all afraid, as 
well may they be, but. Miss Stanley, I’m going 
to tell you something now that’ll make you 
think I’m a coward, sure.” 

While you are saddling up to go out into 
the mountains in search of a flock of sheep that 
you think have been stampeded by murderous 
cattlemen, alone, and at night ?” queried Aunt 
Matilda, smiling faintly. 

‘‘Well, I ain’t a coward; I only said you’d 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 151 

think I was. I’m just as sure that you will not 
be able to hire a herder, black or white, brown 
or red, to take the place of those that left you 
as I would be if I followed Mr. Stanley to- 
morrow from one Mexican’s ’dobe to another 
and heard them all tell him, as polite as so many 
dancing masters, ‘ No sabe, no sabe.’ And he’ll 
go away discouraged, thinkin’ he can’t make 
them understand. They understand fast enough, 
but he’ll never find it out. It’ll be perfectly 
safe. Miss Stanley, for him to go shepherd hunt- 
ing, for he’ll never learn anything you don’t 
want him to know from them. But what I was 
going to say was this : the only persons who can 
herd them sheep in safety are the young ladies 
themselves. There ain’t a cattleman in Mon- 
tana, to my notion, that would touch a hair of 
their heads, while they’d shoot down a man en- 
gaged in the same business and be glad of the 
chance. They’ll try to run off the stock, like 
enough time and again ; but they’ll do it on the 
sly, as they tried to this time. If it hadn’t 
chanced that you got up there before they got 


152 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


to work, your sheep would a’ been gone, and 
you none the wiser. When I said that you’d 
think me a coward, I was goin’ on to say further 
that while I wouldn’t be a mite afraid to have 
the young ladies take charge of the herd as far 
as their safety went, I’d be some afraid to do it 
myself. You see herding and cattle ranching 
ain’t my business and they all know.it. They’d 
be uncommon blazing mad at me if I was known 
to take a hand in this ; not but what I’m going 
to, all right, and I’ll take my chances, too. 
Koy J 0 — the cattlemen don’t own all of Mon- 
tana yet.” 

Home had the horse saddled and ready by this 
time ; he swung himself into the saddle with the 
last words, gathered up the reins, but waited to 
say, Felix may have the sheep corralled some- 
where in the mountains so that it won’t be much 
trouble to get them ; it all depends on whether 
he was followed or not — ” And instantly there 
flashed upon my mind a lonely, touching pic- 
ture of the collie holding his charges by sheer 
force of will somewhere off in the mountain 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


153 


fastnesses and watching through weary hours 
for the help that did not come — if they were 
followed far and scared bad it may take two or 
three days to gather up what is left ; anyway, 
don’t look for me till you see me.” 

What a change came over Luck with this 
stalwart rider on his back ; the subdued, care- 
ful air, the painstaking planting of the feet 
where there was no possible danger of slipping 
was cast aside. With a man’s knees gripping 
his sides, caution was no more for him ; he 
tossed his head and defied the trail. I was ob- 
serving this rather enviously as horse and rider 
started, when Aunt Matilda called suddenly, 
“ Wait, wait !” Rome came cantering back. 

“The Mexican’s blanket,” she said; “Felix 
may take you for an enemy.” 

I had brought the poncho home and was 
bringing it out from the kitchen by the time 
aunt’s explanation was finished. Rome tied it 
securely to the saddle. 

“ That was a mighty good thought. Miss 
Stanley. You’ve got too good a head to be 


154 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


driven from the country by a lot of low-down 
sneaks that want the earth for themselves.’’ 

As horse and man clattered out of sight 
down the trail, a voice from the shadow of the 
adjoining haystack inquired, Isn’t he good?” 
It was Florence, who had been listening quietly 
to our talk, and had received a large share 
of enlightenment. 

I suppose it comes of living in the mount- 
ains ; he’s like me, ashamed to be small and 
mean before them ; not but what I’m all of that, 
but I am often ashamed of it.” 

‘‘ It’s a pity that their companionship don’t 
affect some others in the same way,” I said, 
thinking of the note we had found in the cabin 
and of the stampede. 

As to that,” put in Aunt Matilda, pausing, 
with her hand on the door-knob — we had 
reached the house — it’s another illustration 
of the old saying, ‘ Except the Lord do build 
the house, the builders build in vain.’ If there’s 
nothing in a person to be brought out, it’s a 
waste of time to fish for it.” 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


155 


When we went in father was crouching over 
the kitchen stove, and in answer to aunt’s in- 
quiry if he were cold, he admitted that he was, 
decidedly. It’s an uncommonly chilly night, 
I believe,” he added. It was not, but aunt did 
not say so ; instead, she brought out a bundle 
of boneset that she had taken pains to procure 
a few days before, and set a quantity of the 
leaves to brewing ; presently the pungent, pene- 
trating odor of boneset tea filled the room. 

Come to the fire and get warm, girls,” father 
called to us, as we were about going into the 
next room. 

I’m not cold,” said Florence, going to his 
side. Are you cold yet, papa?” 

Cold all the way through, Flossie ; I’m 
afraid I’m as unfit for a shepherd physically as 
I seem to be mentally.” 

Florence threw back her head with a burst 
of soft laughter. ''Papa, I’m so sorry that 
you got so wet and uncomfortable, but I’m 
just wicked enough to think it was perfectly 
delightful to see you gazing up into the 


156 


THE GIBL RANCHERS 


clouds and admiring those small white animals 
disappearing over the mountain top, when 
those small white animals were the very 
things we wfere there to watch and keep within 
limits.” 

I’m glad if you can extract any amusement 
out of it, child,” said father ruefully, as he 
stretched his hands over the stove. “ I begin 
to fear that we will find sheep ranching a far 
more serious business than we had at first 
thought it to be.” 

Don’t get discouraged, Hugh, over one 
afternoon’s mishaps,” aunt advised him cheer- 
fully. Come ; here’s your tea,” she extended 
a bowl of the unpalatable smelling decoction 
toward him ; he stretched out his hand for it 
reluctantly. Father hated medicine, and Flor- 
ence and I, knowing what a struggle was prob- 
ably before Aunt Matilda, lingered in the 
doorway, watching them. It would have been 
better to go. 

Stay,” cried father, struck with a sudden 
thought. ‘‘ Matilda, the girls had better drink 


A STAMPEDED FLOCK 


157 


that ; they need it more than I, they were wet, 
too, you know. Elsie, Florence, come and 
drink this. It^s a tonic, a corrective, that you 
both need.’’ 

'' I — really — I don’t feel that I need it to- 
night, father,” I said, edging away, “ if Flossie 
feels that she needs it — ” 

I don’t ; and it would be selfish to take it 
from you, father,” Florence declared virtuously. 

‘‘ As to that ; I made a whole potful. There’s 
enough for you all,” said Aunt Matilda. ‘‘I 
think it would be well for you to drink some, 
too.” 

So that was what we got for our curiosity. 
Father, who must have hoped when he pro- 
posed our drinking the nauseous mixture, that 
there was no more of it, and that he would thus 
escape, watched with sympathetic interest while 
we gulped down the horrid mess, and then, with 
a shudder, hastily swallowed his own portion. 
Vevie, who had been viewing the little comedy 
with solemn interest, suddenly snatched up a 
towel and began wiping the feet of the grey- 


158 


THE GIKL EANCHERS 


hound, who was, as usual, stretched out beside 
her. 

There, aunty,’’ she cried, desisting from her 
labors. Now Calif won’t have to take any of 
that — stuff. He gotted his feet wet, but they 
are all dry now.” 

Don’t worry about him,” father counseled 
her with a groan which seemed but the outward 
expression of the bitterness he had just swal- 
lowed. Any self-respecting dog like Calif 
would prefer death to boneset tea.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 

In the seclusion of our own room that night 
I told Florence of what we had heard from 
Rome as to the difficulties and dangers of sheep 
ranching in a cattle country. 

Well, if that is all true, Elsie, he is putting 
himself into a good deal of danger by siding 
with us.’’ 

I suppose he is, Florence ; ne says as much 
himself. But what can we do ?” 

‘‘We can try not to be cowards, Elsie. We 
know how much depends on keeping this ranch ; 
I believe that father’s life, as well as our home, 
depends on it. We must take care of the sheep.” 

“ It will be a hard task, Flossie, it would be 
that, even if we knew anything about the busi- 
ness ; which we don’t.” 

“We can learn; here we are, two healthy, 
active, fairly well-educated girls. Can’t we 

159 


160 


THE GIEL KANCHEES 


learn to care for the sheep, to superintend the 
shearing, to market the ^ clip,’ as I heard 
Rome call it, to look out pasturage, to provide 
shelter in had weather, just as well as a lot of 
ignorant Mexicans ?” demanded Florence, 
whose spirit was aroused. 

‘‘ The Mexicans have been bred to the busi- 
ness for generations,” I reminded her feebly. 

‘‘ This is an age of progress ; I mean to 
assimilate all the sheep lore of the shepherds in 
one working season.” 

Where shall we find the shepherd to act as 
teacher ? We have no really competent author- 
ity to apply to save Felix.” 

“ And Rome,” she reminded me quietly. 

‘‘Yes, and Rome; what he doesn’t know 
already he will find out for us in some way if 
he has to perch on a Mexican’s roof to learn it. 
You make me feel stronger, Flossie; I had not 
for a moment thought of giving up, but it is 
such a comfort to know that you feel as you do 
about it.” We were silent after that, but I 
knew that her thoughts as well as mine were 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 


161 


going out prayerfully toward tlie lost sheep and 
the wandering shepherd in the wilderness. 

Father was so much worse in the morning that 
he decided to remain in bed instead of getting 
up for breakfast and, in the end, he stayed there 
all day. It was a dismal day. We watched 
and listened anxiously, hour after hour, from 
sunrise to sunset for some sight or sound that 
should tell us how Rome was faring, but no 
tidings came. Father was made so much worse 
by the anxiety and uncertainty — although he 
knew nothing of the actual danger in which 
our friend stood — that by nightfall his thin 
cheeks were flushed with fever. It was in vain 
that we reminded him of what Rome had said 
about the difficulty of gathering together a 
flock of frightened sheep ; and that Rome had 
said he might be long delayed. I suppose his 
illness rendered him more nervous than usual, 
but again, and yet again we saw cause to be 
thankful for Aunt Matilda’s tender foresight in 
keeping the knowledge of the bitter truth from 
him. 


11 


162 


THE GIRL RANCHEKS 


Vevie had her share of trials on that unhappy 
day as well as the rest. To divert her attention 
from too strict inquiry into the cause of the 
cloud that, obviously, hung over the rest of the 
family, aunt had told her how to make a cake, 
and father, always singularly watchful of Vevie 
and all that concerned her, no matter what else 
he might have in mind, had awakened to a well- 
simulated interest in the prospective dainty. It 
was worth while to see the pretty creature’s en- 
thusiasm over the task, the solemnity of her 
childish face, and the frequent whispered con- 
sultations with aunt, for the triumph of cookery 
was to be a secret from Florence and me — she 
would not even pretend to a secret from father 
and Calif — but late in the afternoon she came 
in from a series of frequent dashes out-of-doors, 
with a downcast air and quivering lip. 

‘‘ What’s the matter with my blossom ?” asked 
father. 

Not much, papa ; they needn’t think I care,” 
nodding her head in defiance of some invisible 
enemy, but when I had got the cake all done — » 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 


163 


and it looked so nice, I wanted it to get cool quick 
— so I put it out on that big rock and — some of 
those long-tailed birds that are always flying 
around and making fun of Calif and I, flew 
down and ate it — there was nothing left but 
crumbs/’ 

Nothing left but crumbs ?” repeated father 
with an involuntary sigh — credit that on the 
side of experience, my darling; you’ll know 
better than to place your feast within range of a 
magpie next time.” 

Florence and I went out a little after nightfall 
to listen again for some sound on the upper trail. 
The stars were shining in a cloudless sky ; 
seeming very near and large, at that high alti- 
tude. The swirling rush of the hurrying river 
was distinctly audible above the long sigh of the 
night wind that played a never-ceasing melody 
in pine forests up on the mountain sides. A 
beautiful, peaceful scene it all made but with an 
underlying note of melancholy, which became 
more pronounced as a new sound broke the 
stillness. A far, faint, lonely call, the evening 


164 


THE GIEL BANCHEKS 


song of tlie mountain night-hawk, “whip- whip- 
will, whip-whip-will it whistled plaintively. 

“That's different from our Eastern night- 
hawks-," remarked Florence, listening. “ Do you 
notice, Elsie, the Eastern bird says ‘ whip-poor- 
will,' but this one doesn't own up to any sym- 
pathy for Will ; he only insists on his being 
whipped." 

“ How many of them there are to-night, and 
all in different directions," I said. “ It sounds 
almost as though they were signaling to each 
other, doesn't it ?" 

When we re-entered the house we found father 
asleep and Aunt Matilda stepping softly to and 
fro, intent on household tasks, while Vevie sat 
before the open fire, into which she gazed, appa- 
rently lost in thought. There was not an evening, 
even in midsummer, when that cheerful blaze 
was not welcome. 

“What are you thinking of, Vevie?" asked 
Florence. 

“ I was wondering what God let us come to 
this place for," she replied sadly. “ I s'pose He 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 


165 


could have stopped us if He hadn^t wanted us 
to come, but I don’t believe He really knew how 
lonesome it is.” 

“ Yes He did, Vevie, He has something for us 
all to do in this valley as well as in the crowded 
city,” Aunt Matilda told her, pausing on her 
way to the kitchen, with a tray in her hand. 

But there were peoples to do for, back home. 
Aunt Mattie,” persisted Vevie, ^‘and I don’t be- 
lieve God cares very much for the peoples out 
here, anyway ; I wouldn’t if I was Him !” 

Why, Vevie, child ! What a speech !” 

Is it what a speech ?” she asked wistfully. 

I didn’t mean it to be ; I was thinking of the 
man that stopped and talked to me to-day, I 
didn’t like him a bit; and Calif growled and 
growled.” 

What man, who talked with you, child, and 
where and how?” demanded Aunt Matilda, 
startled. 

Down on the footbridge.” 

“Vevie, did you go on that shaky bridge 
with no one in sight ?” 


166 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


‘‘ Yes, auntie, you didn’t tell me not to.” 

‘‘No, I didn’t; I never thought of such a 
thing as your going there alone. Why it 
makes me tremble to think of it !” 

“ The man told me I’d better not stand there,” 
Vevie admitted, with her eyes again on the fire, 
“ he said that I would fall in and get drown- 
ded— ” 

“ Drowned, Vevie,” corrected Florence. 

“ No ; drownded ; that was what he said ; I 
guess it’s drownded out here — then he asked if I 
wasn’t one of the Stanley kids, and I said if you 
mean, am I Mr. Stanley’s little girl ; yes, I am. 
Then he kind of laughed — not a nice laugh, and 
said, ‘ Wal, you’d better come offen that bridge. 
Missy, it’s tolerable unsafe, and your folks is 
going to have considerable trouble ; they’ll have 
enough to keep ’em busy without throwin’ in a 
drownded young one,’ I wouldn’t have come off 
the bridge then if it had dropped from under 
me,” the child added, with a sparkle in the 
brown eyes — “ I wondered what he meant 
by saying that my folks was goin’ to have 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 


167 


i 


trouble ; but I wouldn’t ask him ; so I just held 
on to Calif’s collar to make him let the man 
alone, until finally he rode off. I guess I know 
now, though, what he meant by saying that this 
wasn’t a healthy altitude for a man like papa ; 
he prob’ly knew that papa got wet and took 
cold.” 

He might have said that the altitude wasn’t 
healthy,” observed Florence, with a firm, 
straight line cutting across the soft curve of 
her red lips. But I am quite sure we will be 
able to convince him of his mistake, whoever he 
may be.” 

‘‘ No ; Flossie, the man was right ; I hope 
papa will be better to-morrow.” 

“ I guess he will ; and we must coax him to 
stay at home with you after this.” 

“ Yes ; I always take such good care of him,” 
she said, with a tired little yawn. “I did want 
to hear you sing some to-night, Flossie,” she 
continued, '' but I s’pose you are too tired.” 

This was so often Florence’s excuse for not 
gratifying poor Vevie, who was passionately 


168 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


fond of music, that it was an agreeable surprise 
when she answered readily — though to-night, 
if ever, she might well have pleaded weariness 
— ‘‘ I think IVe got strength enough for a song 
or two, Vevie, unless papa is asleep and the 
singing will disturb him.’’ 

He is asleep,” announced Aunt Matilda, 
re-entering at this moment with a tray of 
untouched food, and carefully closing the door 
after her, ‘‘ but your singing won’t disturb him. 
You know he never awakes for any unusual 
noise.” 

‘‘ Unusual noise !” murmured Florence, taking 
her seat at the organ and running lightly over 
the keys. What shall it be, Vevie ?” 

‘‘That man to-day made me think of the 
song I want ; only, I can’t remember its name,” 
replied Vevie, knitting her baby brows in per- 
plexity. 

“I shouldn’t have thought he’d have re- 
minded you of anything pleasant,” Florence 
told her. 

“ It wasn’t anything that he said ; it was what 


THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS 


169 


he whistled as he was riding away. Wait ! I 
can whistle it.’’ 

As she could whistle any tune, bird song, or 
unusual call that she had ever heard we listened 
with interest to hear what note of the rough 
stranger had so attracted her attention. Hark ! 
Was that really the child whistling, or was it 
the faint, far-heard cry of a night bird in the 
lonely dusk of the mountain twilight. Whip- 
whip-will, whip-whip-will.” Florence looked 
at me, over Vevie’s head, with startled eyes, and 
I recalled the words I had so lately spoken : 
‘‘ It seems almost as though they were signaling 
to each other.” 

The song you are thinking of is this,” said 
Florence, breaking abruptly into it. Vevie 
took up the air and whistled a low accompani- 
ment to ‘‘When I hear the first whip-poor- 
will’s song.” 

“ Now the ‘ Ninety and Nine,’ please,” she 
said as the song ended. 

Florence sang it magnificently, gloriously, as 
she always does, until she came to the words 


170 


THE GIEL EANCHEES 


“Away in the mountains, wild and bare, 

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care,” 

then she stoi^ped suddenly. Vevie did not ask 
her to continue ; instead, she went to the window 
and looked out. ‘‘ It’s a nice night,” she said. 

I hope Mr. Home won’t get lost in the moun- 
tains ; I don’t s’pose he will ; he told me one 
day that he knew them real well. He said he 
could find his way along a trail the darkest 
night that ever was, just by feeling with his 
feet. He’s got such great big feet ; they’ll last 
a long time. I said to him, when he told me 
that, that he had got awful nice great feet, and 
he said he’d have been a good deal taller if there 
hadn’t been so much of him turned up to make 
them. I told him I should think he’d be glad 
there was ; he’s so tall now. I’m going to kiss 
papa good-night and go to bed,” she concluded 
abruptly. 

‘‘ Don’t wake him,” Aunt Matilda cautioned 
her. 

‘‘ Oh, no ; I’ll kiss him so softly he’ll dream it’s 
thistle down drifting over his cheeks, see.” She 


THE WHIP-POOK-WILLS 


171 


caught up a handful of her long fair, misty look- 
ing hair in each hand, and, spreading her arms out 
and upward, like a pair of wings, danced lightly 
across the floor and into the adjoining room. I 
didn’t wake him,” she said, reappearing a mo- 
ment after. ‘‘ I’m tired, auntie, I guess I’ll rest 
in your lap a little while.” She climbed into 
Aunt Matilda’s lap, and, in less than half a 
minute was fast asleep with her head pillowed 
on her aunt’s shoulder. Aunt put her to bed 
and Florence and I soon followed. 

Florence was soon asleep, as I could tell from 
her regular breathing, hut I was too anxious, 
too much alarmed, and lay awake, finding a new 
cause of uneasiness in the careless notes that 
Vevie’s rough visitor had accidentally whistled. 
Was it an accident? It might be a mere coin- 
cidence. We knew so little of the mountains. 
It might be quite the usual thing, so far as we 
could tell, for a band of night birds to call to 
each other in the mountain solitudes, hut, some- 
how, the wild notes, coupled with the inexplic- 
able stampede of the sheep, the ominous letter 


172 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


found in the herder’s cabin, the desertion of the 
herders themselves, and the threatening proph- 
ecy of Vevie’s unknown interviewer seemed 
to have a sinister significance. • I tossed from 
side to side, unable to sleep, longing feverishly 
for morning. I became aware, too, as the night 
wore on, that Aunt Matilda was passing an 
equally restless night. At length, unable to 
bear the silence longer, I slipped on a wrapper 
and crept softly into Aunt Matilda’s room. She 
was lying down, although I had so lately heard 
her moving about. Vevie, who slept with her, 
was prone to awaken in terror if left alone, so 
Aunt Matilda said in a whisper : 

Is that you, Elsie ?” 

Yes ; I canaot sleep.” 

“ Neither can I ; it’s silly, I’m sure to be so 
distressed ; we’ll wear ourselves out for nothing ; 
it will do Rome no good for us to lie awake, but 
it’s of no use to try to sleep.' I can think of 
nothing else. Oh, I’m so thankful that your 
father doesn’t know — he must know, though if 
we don’t get the sheep again ; it will ruin us. 


THE WHIP-POOB-WILLS 173 

But there ! I will not worry. God will care 
for us ; sheep or no sheep.” 

“ And the stars are so near up here in the 
mountains ; God doesn’t seem very far away,” 
I whispered, going to the window and pushing 
up the shade as I spoke. The window faced 
toward the mountain that she and I had so re- 
cently climbed. It loomed before me, black 
and vague as to its base, but with the outlines 
of its crest startlingly distinct against a vivid, 
lurid glow that revealed the stunted firs and 
ragged jack oaks fringing its rocky head. Even 
the jumbled masses of rock were silhouetted in 
sharp black lines upon the ominous background. 
I uttered a low exclamation that brought Aunt 
Matilda to my side. 

There’s a fire over on the other side of the 
mountain,” I whispered. 

Yes ; it’s certainly in the valley where we 
kept our sheep ; pray God that Rome is safe, 
whatever becomes of them.” 

I thought of the song of the whip-poor-wills, 
and doubted it. 


CHAPTER XII 


BOUNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 

The next day Florence and I rode over to 
the store to inquire of Mr. Davis — who knew 
everybody and where they lived — as to where 
we should go to find a Mexican herder on his 
native heath ; and while he was giving us 
minute, but extremely confusing direction as to 
‘‘ draws,” ‘‘ canons,” “ blind trails,” and ‘‘ the 
far side of yon hogback,” his daughter Etta, a 
bright girl of sixteen, came out and joined in 
the conversation. ‘^Can either of you talk 
Mexican?” she asked. We were obliged to 
confess that we could not. The little moun- 
tain maid laughed as gleefully as Florence her- 
self might have done had our positions been 
reversed. How do you expect to make them 
understand you, then ?” she demanded. 

‘‘ I thought we might come across some one 
among them who could interpret for us,” I said 
174 


BOUNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 175 

feeling the weakness of the admission, which 
was a virtual acknowledgment that we expected 
more of these ignorant people than we could do 
ourselves. 

You might ; then again you might not,” 
Miss Etta declared frankly. I’ll tell you how 
we’ll fix it ; I’ll go with you ; may I, father ?” 
The question appeared to be an after-thought ; 
she was so sure of doing as she pleased in the 
matter. Mr. Davis scratched his rough head, 
and displayed a hesitation that evidently 
amazed his daughter. 

‘‘ You won’t need me in the store to-day,” she 
reminded him ; Don is at home, and he’s 
worth two of me any day, you know.” 

No, I don’t know it. Of course, you can 
go if you want to. I am willing to oblige a 
neighbor, of course.” 

You don’t show it very plain to-day,” his 
daughter informed him with perfect candor. 

'‘Well, I am,” the storekeeper insisted. " You 
don’t know everything in the world yet, Etta. 
But never mind; you’ll learn. Here, Jim, 


176 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


saddle up Etta’s pony, and be lively; company’s 
waiting.” 

We bad met Etta Davis several times. She 
was a gay, good-hearted girl, seemingly always 
ready for a frolic. Perhaps she regarded the 
enterprise that we could not help looking on as 
little short of tragedy as a kind of frolic, too, 
for she laughed and chatted as blithely when 
we rode away from the tenth Mexican house, 
burdened with the tenth polite refusal to work 
for us, as when we first started. She was a 
ready interpreter, and, of course, understood 
quite well that we were meeting with nothing 
but disappointment. However, if she felt any 
sympathy for us she was careful not to put it in 
evidence. Mr. Davis had suggested that we 
should call on Poy Jones’ wife on our way back 
from the Mexican settlement. ^‘You’ll be 
riding right by the house, and it won’t be noth- 
ing more than neighborly to drop in,” he urged. 
Florence and I did not feel much inclined for 
missionary work that day, but as Etta reminded 
us, on coming in sight of Mr. Jones’ cabin, of 



WE RODE AWAY FROM THE MEXICAN HOUSE 
(Page 176.) 




ROUNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 177 

her father’s request, we could do no less than 
dismount and ask admission. The door was 
opened by Mr. Jones himself. He appeared to 
be rather backward about asking us in, but the 
feeble voice of his wife called from the adjoia- 
ing room, '' Ain’t one o’ them that Miss Stanley 
that sings, E-oy ?” 

Yes, it is,” replied the man, eying that Miss 
Stanley who sang with anything but a welcom- 
ing expression. 

Oh, do tell her to come right in ; I want her 
to sing ; I’m so tired, ’pears like I shall die. I 
want her to sing !” 

There was something hysterical in the 
plaintive reiteration. The black-browed ranch- 
man loved his wife. He invited us in with 
surly courtesy, and Florence sang song after 
song for the woman who lay listening with 
closed eyes, her starved soul lifted for the time 
far above the wearing anguish of her suffering 
body. Etta Davis even listened without a com- 
ment, though, as we made a move to go, she 
observed, You can sing awful pretty ; I never 
12 


178 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


heard any one sing so good before. I’d be most 
afraid to have such a nice voice, for fear that 
something would happen to it.” 

I reckon I’d cry my eyes out if anything 
should happen to hurt that voice,” put in Mrs. 
Jones, feebly. We parted with Miss Davis at 
her own door, thanking her warmly for her 
assistance and offering to pay her, which was as 
much of a mistake, in its way, as it had been 
not to offer to pay Mr. Seaton on another occa- 
sion. Etta drew herself up with an air of 
offended dignity. I never thought of such a 
thing as your paying me,” she declared, her 
cheeks flushing. ^‘I just went to oblige you, 
and for fun.” Florence made a suitable and 
becoming apology for misunderstanding her, 
and Etta, appeased, said, ‘‘I’ve had an awful 
good time. I think you’re real good company, 
both of you, and I’ll go with you again to-mor- 
row if you want me to.” 

“Would it be of any use? Are there any 
more Mexicans to visit ?” I asked. 

Mr. Davis had drawn near as we rode up, 


EOTJNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 179 

and we had already told him where we had 
been. He replied in his daughter’s stead. 
‘‘There are a few more families in the valley, 
but it won’t do no good to go to them ; you’ll 
only be wasting time. I’ll tell you what to 
do. You want a couple of sheep herders. 
Well, now, lots of Mexicans come to my store; 
that’s how Etta here come to talk their lingo. 
We had to have some one who could do it, and 
she could be spared as easy as any one,” with a 
humorous glance at the girl, who, conscious of 
her value, smiled, but said nothing. “ You just 
leave notice here at the store that you want a 
couple of herders, and they’ll all get wind of it 
before a week’s out. Then, if any of them want 
the job they’ll call and see you about it.” This 
was such sensible counsel that we agreed to it at 
once. And that ended our search for a herder 
and insured our own initiation into the business, 
for no one ever came to apply for the “job,” as 
the storekeeper was probably quite confident 
that they would not. 

In the dusk of the evening, two or three 


180 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


hours after our return, Rome rode up to the 
door, tossed the reins of jaded-looking Luck to 
Johnny, who hastened out to meet him, and 
strode into the sitting-room to give his re23ort. 

I got most of ’em,’’ he said briefly. Yes, 
they’re all right; jest as right as can be,” he 
continued, as the door of father’s room opened 
and he came out wrapped in his dressing-gown, 
and with an anxious flush on his cheeks, to hear 
the rej^ort. There ain’t many lost, and we 
didn’t have much trouble ; not any to sj^eak 
of.” He went on at some length, detailing the 
route he had taken, and leading father to infer 
that what he had been doing was scarcely more 
than a little pleasure jaunt. But later, when 
father, whose cough was troublesome again, had 
gone to bed, he admitted to us that things were 
not quite so rose-hued as he would have father 
believe. 

We’ve got ’em corralled up there in that 
valley again, Felix and me,” he said, ‘‘ and 
Felix is about as nigh starved to death and 
worn out as a dog can be and live ; but he’ll 


ROUNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 181 

keep them sheep all right to-night. He must 
have help early in the morning.’’ 

I will help him,” I said in the pause that 
followed. am not afraid, if you are not 
afraid for me, Eome.” It was the first time 
that I had called him ^'Eome” to his face, 
though he was so much to us that we seldom 
spoke of him in any other way among ourselves. 
The good fellow embarrassed me by rising from 
his chair, crossing the room, and grasping my 
hand. 

Elsie, you’ve got something that ain’t 
generally given to women — leastways, we don’t 
generally look for it in them. You’ve got 
courage, courage, and you need it.” He dropped 
my hand as Florence, coming swiftly to my 
side, leaned on my shoulder and looked up at 
him with that sparkling gleam of humor that 
ran through all her moods like a golden thread. 

Eome,” she said smilingly, you might 
squeeze my hand, too ; I’m Elsie’s sister, and 
she hasn’t a monopoly of courage ; I’m going 
with her in the morning.” 


182 


THE GIKL BANCTIEES 


I’m glad to hear it,” declared Rome, 
possessing himself of the offered hand. “ I 
reckon you’re a pair.” He resumed his seat, 
rnd Aunt Matilda looked puzzled at his next 
c|uestion. Did you ever hear any birds sing- 
ing early in the evening ?” he asked. 

^^Yes,” returned Florence quickly, ‘‘the 
whip-poor-wills.” 

“ Well, them birds was two-legged and wore 
^Yhiskers instead of feathers. That night-hawk 
call was the signal they had given out for col- 
lecting in the upper valley — which they did.” 
There was a dark meaning in Rome’s short but 
significant pause. “I knew that them calls 
meant mischief,” he went on. “ You see it ain’t 
the way of night-hawks to mix up in promis- 
cuous company; they’re a shy bird. Maybe, 
along in the edge of the evening, you’ll hear one, 
jest as the stars begin to shine out, still and 
solemn. Beyond the top of old Mount Ken- 
neth, a single, far-away note’ll come stealing 
down the mountain, for all the world like a 
voice wandering alone without any body to it ; 


EOUNDINO UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 183 


and, later on, the note may be repeated from 
some other place, say a half-dozen times, but 
IVe lived in the San Coulee going on to ten 
years and I never yet heard the whip-poor-wills 
going on as reckless as they did last night ; so, 
as I said, I was on ^the lookout for mischief. 
You see, I had had a whole day to round up the 
flock before the night-hawks let themselves loose. 
I found Felix up in the mountains standing 
guard over a thousand of ’em the first night, 
and I jest stayed there with him. By nightfall 
of the second day we had gathered in nearly 
three thousand, which we were getting back to 
the valley, when the night-hawks started up. I 
passed the word to Felix, and we concluded to 
let the flock look out for themselves for awhile, 
whilst we looked out for ourselves. I knew it 
wasn’t going to be healthy for me to be found 
herding them sheep. But it turned out later that 
Felix wasn’t wasting much time in thinking of 
his health. Him and the horse and me jest set 
down where we were and waited. It was so dark 
tip in the cedar patch that no one could see us, 


184 


THE GIBL RANCHEKS 


and it wasn’t long before there was a commotion 
down in the valley where the sheep were hud- 
dled. I couldn’t make out anything except that 
they were plumb scared again, scattering in all 
directions and scurrying away like so many jack 
rabbits. Whoever ’twas that was after ’em must 
a made up their minds that they might as well 
have some of the mutton as for the lions to be 
getting it all ; at any rate, they opened fire on the 
fleein’ critters. Whether they killed any or not 
I couldn’t tell, but they didn’t keep up that game 
long. I’d had hard work to keep the collie still 
when thesheep first began to scatter, and when the 
night-hawks begun firing into ’em, he tore him- 
self loose from me — I was hanging to his collar 
— and launched himself down that mountain 
and into the gully same’s if he was shot out of 
a cannon. He went right at the night-hawks, 
regardless, for in a minute I heard some one 
yell out, ‘ Look out ! There’s a mountain lion !’ 
I’ve heard that voice before, and another voice 
that I ain’t quite so knowing to, hollered, ‘ It’s 
a sheep dog ! shoot him ! shoot him !’ and he 


KOUNDIJS-G UP UNDEK DIFFICULTIES 185 

blazed away at Felix. I reckon I could locate 
that voice, too, on a pinch, when him and I get 
ready for the settlement that’s coming. But the 
other voice yelled, ' Let up on that ! Whoever 
hurts that dog is going to git hurt bad himself, 
now I tell you.’ When I have my reckoning up 
with them songsters I’ll remember that in his 
favor, too. There wasn’t any more firing after 
that, but Felix didn’t come back. I was terrible 
afraid that he was hurt, but I couldn’t do any- 
thing until it got light enough to see, and then I 
made him out, standing guard over the little 
remnant of the flock, like a soldier alone on the 
battle-ground.” 

And that’s the dog that I begrudged pay- 
ing a hundred dollars for !” murmured Aunt 
Matilda. ‘^And you stayed in that uncom- 
fortable place all night,” she exclaimed sym- 
pathetically. 

‘^No, Miss Stanley, I didn’t. Not in that 
uncomfortable place. I wasn’t out looking for 
comfortable places. I said that I stayed there 
till it got light enough to see; it got light 


186 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


enough for that long before morning.’’ Into 
our minds flashed the j)icture of the wild red 
glow beyond the mountain top that we had seen 
last night. Aunt Matilda nodded. ‘‘ Yes, I 
understand ; we saw the Are ; go on.” 

When the fire began to make us more visible 
than I thought was good for us, I took hold of 
the pony’s bridle and sneaked down into the 
gully where Felix was. I reckoned that the 
sheep wouldn’t be disturbed again that night, 
because, you see, them that set the fire would 
want to be getting home and to bed about that 
time.” 

‘‘ And the fire ?” 

‘^It was the cabin where the herders had 
lived — lucky they wasn’t in it ; ’twould a’ been 
all the same to them warblers if they had been, 
I reckon.” 

They mean to drive us out, that’s certain,” 
said Aunt Matilda, her face pale with anxiety. 

‘'Well, they hain’t done it yet. Now I’ll 
tell you what to do next. You say you couldn’t 
get no herders ?” 


HOUNDING UP UNDER DIFFICULTIES 187 

No ; we tried to-day so that if we did have 
any sheep left the shepherd would be ready, but 
we could not find one.’’ 

“You never will; give up that idea and 
buckle down to the next best thing. To-morrow 
we three will drive the flock out on the plains 
where they ought to have been taken two 
months ago. There’ll be no chance for whip- 
poor-wills to creep up on ’em unbeknown out 
there.” 

“ See here, Rome,” in her earnestness Aunt 
Matilda laid her hand lightly on the tall moun- 
taineer’s shoulder. “You said that you recog- 
nized the voices of those men who were down in 
the gully firing at the sheep ; now if you could 
swear to their identity — ” 

Rome shook his head. “ No, Miss Stanley. 
Your idea would be all right back East ; it ain’t 
here. We don’t want no swearing to identities. 
But as long as I know and can threaten ’em 
with my knowledge, it gives me a kind of hold 
over ’em. I can make ’em dance to the tune I 
whistle, and I’m allowing to do considerable 


188 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


whistling from this on. Now I must be a get- 
ting on up to my cabin and tend to some little 
matters so that I can leave to-morrow. I shall 
be on hand as soon as it’s light enough to see ; 
I don’t want to have the job of collecting them 
sheep again jest for the sake of a morning 
snooze.” 


CHAPTEK XIII 


ON THE PLAINS 

Rome was as good as his word ; he was on 
hand before we had finished breakfast next 
morning, although we were breakfasting by 
lamp light. Aunt Matilda entreated him to 
come in and have a cup of coffee, but he declined, 
on the plea that he had had his breakfast, and 
did not want to make any one trouble.’’ It 
was not the first time that we had had occasion 
to notice how strongly implanted in his breast 
was the rustic’s shy distaste for personal serv- 
ice ; or, perhaps it would be more correct to say 
the solitary’s man’s dislike to being waited on. 

It was not yet light enough to enable one to 
distinguish a sheep from a boulder when we 
mounted our ponies and took the trail for the 
upper valley. I confess, that notwithstanding I 
had valiantly declared my readiness on the night 
before to go to Felix’s aid, alone, if need be, 

189 


190 THE GIRL RANCHERS 

yet, since my heart was literally in my mouth 
at every slight noise, it was infinitely comfort- 
ing to have this strong, courageous man beside 
us. From the pallor of Florence’s face as it 
gleamed white against the background of her 
wide-brimmed hat, I knew that she, too, was 
suffering tortures of apprehension. 

The ride seemed wild and weird enough of 
itself at that gray hour, without the added 
uncertainty as to what we might find when we 
reached the upper valley. 

Koine rode on ahead in absolute silence, 
glancing back now and then to make sure that 
we were following all right. Suddenly the 
silence was broken by a sharp staccato call, not 
unlike a high, gurgling laugh. In an instant 
the call was taken up and repeated from all 
directions until the dewy aisles of the pine 
forests seemed to echo and re-echo with peals 
of mocking laughter. The footfall of Florence’s 
pony, that had been following close behind me, 
ceased. I glanced back. She had stopped her 
horse and was crouching half-bent over the 


ON THE PLAINS 


191 


saddle, staring about her with blanched face and 
parted lips, a very picture of helpless, unreason- 
ing terror. Of course I stopped my horse the 
instant that I perceived her distress, and I 
suppose Rome missed my following footfall, as 
I had hers. He looked back inquiringly, then 
turned and made his way to Florence’s side. 

I’m afraid you’re scared of the boomers. Miss 
Stanley,” he said, laying his big hand with a 
reassuring touch on the small cold one that was 
desj^erately clutching Now Then’s bridle ; I 
ought to a’ told you, but I’m so used to the 
sassy little rascals that I plumb forgot it. The 
noise you hear is nothing but the pine squirrels. 
There’s millions of ’em, I reckon, and they’re 
so loud and talk so big, ’long about daylight, 
that folks has give ’em the name of boomers, 
same’s if they was land site spec’alators. They’ve 
got their circus in full blast now.” 

I think, if you don’t mind, Elsie, that I’ll 
ride next to Rome,” Florence said, quivering. 

** Do, Flossie ; my nerves are stronger than 
yours.” 


192 


THE GIKL KANCHEKS 


“That’s all right/’ Kome assured us, in a 
very low voice ; “ but you’ll excuse me if I don’t 
talk much. You, see Felix’s nerves is kind of 
unstrung, too, and he ain’t used to your voices, 
so I thought it best to come on him as gentle as 
possible. I expect he’s strainin’ his eyes by this 
time to see what’s cornin’.” 

“ How can that be ?” murmured Florence. 
“ I’m sure that no dog that ever lived could 
hear or see us at the distance we are now from 
the valley, and around the shoulder of a moun- 
tain, at that?” 

It was, by this time, light enough for us to 
see objects with more or less distinctness. Rome 
lifted a hand, pointing upward. “ See there ?” 
he said, briefly. There was nothing to see save 
a couple of small, dingy-looking birds that had 
been flitting along above the tree-tops in advance 
of us for the past twenty minutes, clamoring and 
calling incessantly. The birds were, as I said, 
small, but their voices were not. 

“ That’s what you might call a good, compe- 
tent screech, ain’t it ?” he whispered, as one of 


ON THE PLAINS 


198 


tliem gave out a peculiarly piercing cry. Well, 
them birds are what we call camp-robbers. 
They’re sociable little fellers ; always hovering 
over the trail and yelling their approval — I 
reckon it’s approval — when a party comes up 
into the mountains, especially if they come kind 
of quiet, and the birds think they don’t want to 
be seen.” 

Why do you think that their cries mean that 
they are glad to have people come ?” I asked. 

^‘They’re kind o’ used to seein’ folks that come 
up this way make camp ; making camp means 
somethi g to eat; something to eat means a feast 
for Mr. Camp Robber, who will flit around the 
outskirts of the camp, screechin’ and scolding ; 
afeard there won’t be anything left for him if 
he don’t let folks know he’s there. Felix knows 
that there’s some one cornin’, or the birds wouldn’t 
be makin’ all this fuss. Follow close and keep 
still now.” 

We came upon Felix sitting quietly at the 
natural gateway at the entrance to the valley. 
He greeted us with a somewhat reserved, doubt- 
13 


194 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


ful manner. It appeared to me that he was 
questioning the propriety of two young girls 
being abroad in the mountain wilderness at that 
hour of the morning. The sheep were huddled 
together, showing, even to us, unmistakable 
signs of alarm and distress. 

It’s too bad,” muttered Rome, as I slipped 
off Luck’s back and laid before Felix the break- 
fast that I had brought. It’s just too bad that 
these sheep have been hounded and chased and 
bamboozled as they have ; it’ll take ’em a week 
to quiet down and get over this scare, even on 
the outside range; I misdoubt if they’d do it at 
all in here now.” 

I don’t believe many have been lost, do 
you?” asked Florence, her eye ranging hope- 
fully over the broad expanse of woolly backs. 

‘‘ Something like two hundred, as near as I 
make it; and you’ll find that two hundred 
makes a sizable hole, even in three thousand. 
Now I reckon Felix is ready, and we’ll get ’em 
in motion.” 

Getting them in motion was not at all a 


ON THE PLAINS 


195 


difficult task ; the difficulty was, rather, in turn- 
ing the motion in the right direction and keep- 
ing it there. It was in the way that he did this, 
and the intelligence and discrimination that he 
showed in doing it, that my admiration for 
Felix grew apace, until I was more than half in- 
clined to agree with Vevie in her oft-expressed 
opinion of the greyhound : ‘‘ Calif knows just as 
much as I do, only he won’t talk about it,” she 
would declare, earnestly. Sometimes he knows 
more, for he knows enough to keep still when 
that’s the best thing to do.” 

But, after all, it was not very high praise of 
the shaggy, faithful collie to say that he knew 
more about the sheep business than I did. 

Down into the lower valley we filed at length, 
some two hours after the start from the upper 
one, and along the roadway past our cottage, 
where father. Aunt Matilda, Vevie, Calif, and 
Johnny witnessed the exodus with much in- 
terest. We kept on through the length of the 
valley, over the bridge — successor to the one 
that had been washed out behind us on the day 


196 


THE GIKL KANCHEKS 


of our entrance into the valley — up the moun- 
tain road and so out upon the plains, where the 
abundant herbage so tempted the half-starved 
creatures that it became almost impossible to 
urge them along. 

We must get ’em nigh enough to the corral, 
over yon on the San Coulee,” Rome said, point- 
ing to a large enclosure on the river bank, 
“ so that we can drive ’em in tliere and get the 
gate closed and locked by sundown ; they won’t 
be so ravenous after a day or two.” 

As we slowly approached to within a half 
mile or less of the big corral, we allowed the 
sheep to scatter out and graze at will, then 
Rome took off his hat and wiped his streaming 
face with a look of intense relief. 

‘‘I’m thankful that’s done!” he ejaculated. 
“I don’t know when I’ve been feelin’ more 
nervous ’bout a thing. I don’t mind sayin’ to 
you now that I have been havin’ my doubts 
about our gettin’ here unmolested; we never 
should had it not been that the two prettiest 
girls in Coulee were drivin’ the flock.” 


197 


ON THE PLAINS 

I’ll try to forgive you for making fun of 
our looks, Rome, if you’ll tell me why you sa}^ 
that,” I replied. 

Why, you don’t for a minute s’pose, do you, 
that them songful night birds that run the sheep 
off before don’t know what’s goin’ on to-day ? 
They know just as well as we do. And they 
ain’t right well pleased,- either. You see,” he 
continued, drawing nearer to me, for he seemed 
to regard me as the active working partner in 
the sheep business, there’s a short cut from 
the upper Coulee through the Wind River range 
down into Wyoming, and whenever a herd, 
either of cattle, horses, or sheep is stampeded in 
the Coulee valleys — stampeded purposely, like 
this one was — why, it’s easy to keep the scat- 
tered bands kind of drifting toward the pass 
where they’ll all come together again where they 
can be rushed doAvn into the south and sold — 
if any one wants to take the risk of buyin’ stolen 
herds, and lots of fellows do — especially sheep. 
Sheep ain’t so easy identified as cattle — they 
can be turned over to some dealer who is too 


198 


THE GIBL RANCHERS 


obliging to ask questions. He claps another 
brand on over the one he finds already on cat- 
tle or horses, and gives a new cut to the crop 
ear of a sheep, and he’s all right. He can swear 
to his own brand if any questions are ever 
asked, which they most gen’lly are not. Now, 
seeiii’ that we’ve got the flock out here, if they 
want to run it off again, into Southern Colorado 
or New Mexico they’ve got to drive them back 
again through the same valley that we’ve took 
’em out of. They won’t feel like doing that for 
awhile yet. So I reckon our travels are over 
with for the time being, but there’s another big 
job on hand I s’pose you know.” 

‘‘You mean watching the flock?” I asked 
doubtfully. 

“ No; that’s settled. You two can watch it; 
though I ain’t saying that it’s going to be fun 
for you. The thing that you can’t do is to 
shear the sheep ; and it ought to be done just as 
quick as they get a little over this scare. It 
ought to have been done a month ago ; yes, a 
week before they ever came into your hands ; 


ON THE PLAINS 


199 


but now, every day that you lose decreases the 
value of the clip and makes it just so much 
harder for the critters themselves. But we won’t 
worry about that till we have to. The thing to do 
now is to get hold of a lot of Mexicans, app’int 
a day for the shearing and see that it’s done.” 

If the shearers are no easier to find than the 
herders, I don’t see what we are to do,” I said 
sadly enough. 

“ It’s goin’ to be an uphill job ; I ain’t doubt- 
in’ that ; but you’ve had worry enough for one 
day. Let’s talk of something besides sheep for 
awhile.” As he seemed to think that we were 
quite up to his own cheerful philosophy of dis- 
missing a troublesome subject when no good 
could be achieved by discussing it, we tried to 
comply, but I know that through my mind 
there trooped nothing but long processions of 
impossible Mexicans armed with sheep shears. 

‘‘You’ll have a nice healthy gallop home 
every night,” Borne went on cheerfully. “ I 
bet you your cheeks’ll be brown enough before 
the summer’s over.” 


200 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


“ It’s a good ways from home,” I said thought- 
fully. 

Not so very far ; the road is so good that 
you can make twice the time over it that you 
could in gettin’ to the upper Coulee.” 

It’s a lovely bicycle road,” observed Flor- 
ence, wistfully. 

Rome was riding the buckskin that day — he 
had no horse of his own. He flecked the 
broncho’s shoulder absently with the tip of his 
heavy quirt as he said : ‘‘ I seen one of them 
heesickles one day ; a man down to Carston had 
one. He was ridin’ it, kind o’ humped up, like 
a grasshopper gettin’ ready to jump, and the 
sweat was pourin’ off of him prodigious. Looked 
to me like he had to pay for all the riding he 
got. I like bronchos better myself.” 

We had dismounted and were loitering along 
by the side of our grazing horses as we talked. 
Rome began telling us of that prospect ” of 
his. He appeared to have high hopes of it. 
“ I’ve been looking into it and I find that I can 
get water around to the mouth of the mine from 


ON THE PLAINS 


201 


the Coulee by a little work, well, by a good deal 
of work, for it’s goin’ to take some blasting 
and a power of dynamite, but it can be done, 
and when it is Rome Beaumont ain’t a poor 
man any longer. I’ve been carryin’ the placer 
sand as I dug it out, to the river before this, 
and it’s slow work ; there’ll be a change when 
old Coulee sends a stream sparklin’ past the 
door of my cabin.” 

Are you so anxious to get rich, Rome ?” 

‘‘ Not a bit ; I care more for it now than ever 
I did in my life before, though. Folks is queer 
about riches. Now, look at me ; I’ve got good 
health, good eyes, ears, and feet — look at ’em ” — 
he glanced down at the members in question 
with a humorous twinkle — seem a good deal 
like a pair of them Kentucky push-boats, don’t 
they ? but all the gold between here and the 
Pacific Ocean couldn’t buy me another pair as 
good if anything was to happen to these. So I 
can’t help feelin’ that I’m pretty rich already, 
but that prospect of mine’ll jest be pavin’ the 
way for something that this kind of riches 


202 


THE GIEL KANCHERS 


couldn’t bring me, that’s all. Cuidado ! Felix ! 
Say, what you thinking of?” 

I’m going to teach Felix English,” I in- 
formed him, as Felix, thus reminded of his duty, 
promptly brought up a half-dozen laggards. 

Are you ? Poor little feller ! I bet his 
head’ll ache worse’n ever his feet have after 
ranging the hills all day in search of a stam- 
peded flock. I know mine would if I had to 
learn it right.” 

Late in the afternoon our charges were cor- 
ralled within the high-walled enclosure not far 
from the river bank, and, discovering that a 
snug little kennel had been built close outside 
for Felix, we left him on guard and rode home- 
ward in the gathering dusk. 


CHAPTER XIV 

AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE 

Rome proved a true propliet. The aggressive 
cattlemen, baffled in their first attempt to scat- 
ter our flock, molested us no more. Day after 
day passed, and we could find in the whole 
length and breadth of the Coulee country no 
man, white, black, or brown, willing to under- 
take, for love or money, the task of herding our 
sheep ; more than that, and infinitely worse, we 
could find no shearers. 

Rome was our stronghold and defense in that 
time of need. He conscientiously gave to Flor- 
ence and me the credit of ‘^holding down the 
ranch,’^ as he expressed it, but we all knew that 
without his unselfish aid all our efforts to ‘‘ hold 
it down ’’ would have been useless. We dared 
not appeal to him or accept of his freely-prof- 
fered services oftener than was absolutely nec- 
essary, not only for the sake of his own safety, 

203 


204 


THE GIEL KANCHEHS 


but because he would accept no payment for 
anything that he did. Aunt Matilda ventured 
to broach the subject to him once, and he ap- 
peared so deeply hurt that she never had the 
courage to mention it again. 

The change of climate proved very beneficial 
to father, but every indiscretion or exposure was 
pretty sure to bring on an acute reminder that 
he must take no liberties with his precarious 
health. No change of climate, however, could 
efface the memory of Donald Arleigh’s treachery; 
Donald, the practical, to whom the dreamy, 
silent inventor looked as to another, and possi- 
bly, a more masterful self, who would demon- 
strate the value of those pursuits to which he 
had dedicated his life, and for which his life had, 
as far as he could judge by tangible results, been 
wasted. Instead of this sad ending, if Donald had 
been true, the world would have been his willing 
debtor. In losing him, he was doubly, trebly 
wounded, in his love, his ambition, and his pride. 
Into the life of this hurt, but patient recluse, 
came Rome, with his cheery good fellowship, his 


Aisr ODD ACQUAINTANCE 


205 


loyal friendliness, his unfailing interest in those 
about him, and his presence was as balm to 
fatlier’s sore heart. His sad eyes brightened, 
the hopeful tone gradually returned to his con- 
versation ; his faith in humanity slowly reas- 
serted itself, and in the same ratio, his health 
improved. Donald was not forgotten, but the 
whole world was no longer false because one 
beloved had fallen short of his expectations. 
He was never prone to look much into details, 
and since we assured him that it was best for us 
to attend to the sheep herding, he believed it, 
and let it go at that. At first we were in some 
fear lest he should again offer his services, but 
his first attempt had been such a dismal failure 
that he had not the courage to repeat it. He 
believed the stampede and all the subsequent 
trouble to liave been the direct result of his own 
heedlessness, and, of course, we could not tell 
him otherwise. 

The long, lonely days on the range passed 
uneventfully. Florence and I settled down to 
the conviction that there was no one to help us in 


206 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


the herding, but oh, the shearing ! the shearing! 
To lose the clip was to lose that for which the 
sheep were kept. And we could find no shearers. 

Florence, who, in the pleasant, idle days that 
we spent in our Eastern home, would never go 
very far out of her way to help another, now 
realized fully the importance of all connected 
with our daily task. I recall especially the 
close of one rainy day when we came galloping 
home with the raindrops beating in our faces 
and the wild, sweet mountain wind tossing our 
loosened hair like silken streamers. Father 
stood on the little porch watching for us, and 
he burst out vehemently as we drew rein before 
him, ‘‘ This is an outrage, nothing less than an 
outrage, that two young girls like you should 
be compelled to do work that obliges you to ex- 
pose yourselves like this. We will sell the sheep 
if no one but you can be found to watch them.’’ 

Florence is much more ready of speech than 
I ; she has her arguments all ready while I am 
slowly marshalling the words to clothe mine in, 
and I always have a depressing sense that they 


AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE 


207 


don’t half fill out their clothes at that. Brush- 
ing the hair from her damp cheeks, she sprang 
from the saddle and ran into the house, saying : 

Come in, papa ; I want to talk that over 
with you.” 

She began as soon as we entered the house, 
the house that could never seem otherwise than 
cozy and warm as loiig as Aunt Matilda pre- 
sided over it and father and Vevie awaited us. 

Father,” began Florence, turning her bright 
face, flushed with rain and sparkling with 
health, toward him, “ this work that you think 
it such an outrage for us to do is good for me ; 
I need it. Elsie never needed such discij)line. 
She was always good enough without under- 
going any experience to make her better ; but I 
never was very good, and you all know it. These 
long, still days on the range — for, of course, 
Elsie and I are seldom together except when we 
round up at night — are giving me a chance to 
get acquainted with myself. Why, papa, I am 
growing ! I have never had a chance to grow 
before ; all the things that I had in life, all that 


208 


THE GIKL KANCHEES 


I loved or hoped for, was for something that 
should redound to the benefit or glory of Flor- 
ence — Florence, the selfish, ungrateful little 
wretch ! Well, there, papa, I won’t abuse her ; 
you love her, and it makes you uncomfortable 
to hear the truth about her ; but I know it now. 
I begin to see that there is something else in 
the world. I think it’s good for me to get away 
for awhile from the crowding, the hurry, and 
the self-centered thoughts of civilization. I’m 
getting acquainted with myself, with my soul 
out here — a pretty small one, it’s true, ‘ a poor 
thing, but mine own.’ ” 

Father was silent a long time after she ceased 
speaking. He glanced out of the window and 
up at the heights that the misty night was fast 
oblitering, with a far-off, seeking expression ; 
finally, You may be right,” he said. I re- 
member that the Bible tells us that when God 
desired to fit a man to become the leader of His 
chosen people. He sent him, not into the crowded 
city for an education, but into the wilderness.” 

However, I who seldom soar above the com- 


AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE 209 

monplace, became so skilled a- shepherdess that, 
in the course of two or three weeks, I often took 
entire charge of the flock for days at a time, 
thus leaving Florence free to make a better use 
of her time, and to keep up the music that father 
— and Mrs. Jones, for Florence continued to 
visit her — delighted in. Musicians were natur- 
ally scarce in San Coulee and the fame of Flor- 
ence’s singing and playing gradually spread 
abroad. She was wont to accuse herself of self- 
ishness in leaving me to take the burden of the 
range work so entirely on my own shoulders, 
but, as it turned out, she was doing good service, 
even when she least realized it. Why is it, I 
wonder, that people are so prone to believe that 
the path of duty is always set with thorns? 
Because she loved to paint and sing, and could 
do both so well, her conscience, being rather 
aggressively active since this life of solitary self- 
communing began, troubled her, insinuating 
that, since she loved these occupations and did 
not really love the role of shepherdess, the latter 
was the thing that she should devote herself to. 
14 


210 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


It took a great many arguments to convince her 
that there would be no harm in giving a portion 
of her time to each. 

Father and Vevie, accompanied always by 
Calif, spent a good deal of time in wandering 
over the hills. They were industriously making 
a collection of the wild flowers of the region, 
and also of various kinds of clay, good, bad, 
and indifierent, with which father experimented 
impartially, leaving a trail of clay on every- 
thing that he touched, and, seemingly, touching 
everything in the house, for the evidence of 
his work spoke on every hand. Coming home 
from their rambles they occasionally met an 
Indian, or Indians, strays from the Ked Cliff 
Agency on the other side of Mount Kenneth, 
the white crest of which signaled the traveler 
for a hundred miles away. I doubt if any one 
of us would ever have thought of visiting the 
Agency, however, had it not been for the chance 
acquaintance that father and Vevie made during 
one of their walks with old Running Wolf. He 
was a grim yet amiable savage whom they over- 


AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE 


211 


took as they were hurrying home, rather late, 
one evening, laden as usual with the spoils of 
the forest in the form of roots, blossoms, and 
knobby chunks of clay and colored ochre. It 
was rather startling, as a first experience, and 
in the twilight to come upon a bronzed old 
warrior in the mountain wilds, but, after an in- 
voluntary pause, during which Vevie clung 
tightly to his hand, and Califs shining eyes 
began to gleam ominously, father quickened his 
steps and overtook the Indian saying, in white 
man’s fashion, ‘‘ Good evening, sir.” 

‘‘ Ugh, ugh ! white man,” grunted the Indian, 
and although he stepped aside to give them 
room to j)ass on the narrow trail, it was not re- 
assuring to observe that he gave, what seemed 
to father, unmistakable signs of having indulged 
too freely in liquor ; yet he was a pitiful figure, 
too, old, far from home, alone in the shades of 
coming night. If father had not been in the 
habit of looking below the surface of things, he 
would not have seen and thought of all this ; 
and our attempts to conduct a successful sheep 


212 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


ranch in San Coulee would have ended in dis- 
aster. Instead of passing on, he stopped and 
looked at the Indian, who, waiting patiently for 
him to jR'Oceed, minded his scrutiny as much, 
and no more, than he would that of a rabbit. 

You are tired and a long way from home, I 
see,’’ father remarked at last, and I doubt if 
you can go much further,” which was intended 
as a gentle reminder that he had been drinking 
overmuch, but the Indian took it differently. 

Lame,” he said, laconically, pointing to his 
left foot which was clumsily bandaged. Slip 
on trail away yond’, rock roll on foot, smash,” 
he explained with no waste of words but with 
sufficient clearness. 

Where are you going ?” 

The Indian glanced up to where the rose-col- 
ored pennons and clouds of snow danced along 
the crest of Kenneth. These, driven from the 
snow-fields by the fierce wind that sprang up 
with the going down of the sun, were already 
streaming along in weird procession. Then he 
said, stoically, Eeservation.” 


AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE 


213 


“ The Reservation father echoed. With 
your lame foot? Why, man it’s twenty-five 
miles to the Reservation ! Thirty-five miles by 
Agency road ; twelve miles less over the moun- 
tain. Do you mean that you intend to cross 
the mountain to-night 

Got to. No camp, no fire ; no eat ; got to,” 
the Indian replied, with dogged patience. 

You come home with me, and I’ll see about 
all that, and look after that wounded foot into 
the bargain,” replied father, walking forward 
with Vevie’s hand in his, and Calif, contrary to 
his wont at times, made no objections to the pro- 
ceedings, hut followed sedately behind the In- 
dian, who hobbled painfully along in father’s 
wake. 

Florence was at home that day. When 
they reached the house and father stopped on 
the threshold she was playing and singing. The 
Indian, just at father’s back, laid his hand sud- 
denly on his shoulder, compelling him to pause, 
while he thrust his copper-colored face close to 
father’s, gazing at the singer steadfastly, breath- 


214 


THE GIJIL RANCHERS 


lessly, as though spellbound, as, indeed, he was. 
Fortunately Florence did not see the strange, 
wild face, with its glinting black eyes, regard- 
ing her with such fascinated interest. If she 
had, I dare say she would have screamed, and 
thereby wrecked our fortunes, for Running 
Wolf, as we presently found his name to be, was 
as sensitive as any other shy, half-tamed creature 
of the mountains. When the last ringing notes 
of the song died away father stepped forward. 
He understood and liked poor old Running 
Wolf from that moment. 

Flossie,’’ he said, I’ve brought you and Ma- 
tilda a patient.” He threw the door wide open, 
so that the red light of sunset lit up Running 
Wolf in all his barbaric ugliness. His foot is 
hurt, and he needs attention,” he continued. 

When I came home an hour later his foot had 
been carefully dressed, he had been fed, and was 
lying on a pile of blankets before the fireplace, 
sleepily blinking at the genial warmth of the 
fire that was seldom allowed to die out on our 
hearth. 


CHAPTER XV 


A WILD RIDE 

When we became somewhat accustomed to 
the range work it did not so completely ab- 
sorb all of our thoughts, although it certainly 
did occupy all of the time of one or the other 
of us. As our own anxieties became a trifle 
less overwhelming we were able to take some 
interest in our neighbors, neighbors still, even 
if they were disposed to have none of us. 
Aunt Matilda not only discovered that the 
wife of our morose friend, Roy Jones, was 
sick, but she promptly made Mrs. Jones her 
particular charge, so that it was not unusual — 
especially before aunt became the fairly good 
horsewoman that she did in time — for Florence 
or I to find on returning from our day’s work 
on the range, that she had an errand for one or 
the other of us in behalf of Mrs. Jones. These 
errands took the form of a late ride over to the 

215 


216 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Joneses residence oftener than was pleasant for 
a tired sheep herder, hut I hope that it was 
partly good feeling, as well as a recognition of 
the fact that it was well for us to place any 
cattleman under a debt of obligation to us 
whenever the opportunity offered, that made us 
refrain from making any objections to these 
supplementary rides. 

As a matter of fact it was usually I who took 
them if they came late, because I was supposed 
to be much more courageous than Florence, and 
it was on account of my being credited with so 
much courage that Aunt Matilda said to me 
one evening about nine o’clock, ‘‘ Elsie, I de- 
clare, I’m most ashamed to ask it of you, but I 
just wish you would go and take this basket of 
grapes over to Mrs. Jones. You wouldn’t be 
afraid to go, would you.” 

No.” 

You see,” aunt continued in explanation, 
Mrs. Jones wasn’t quite so well when I was 
over there day before yesterday ; she was long- 
ing for some fruit, so I went over to the store 


A WILD RIDE 


217 


and asked Mr. Davis to have some grapes sent 
up from Carston first chance he got. They 
came late this afternoon, and IVe been waiting 
all the evening hoping that Rome would call 
and take them around for us, but I guess he 
isn^t coming to-night. Of course Mrs. Jones 
can wait if you don’t feel like going.” 

‘‘ I’ll go, Aunt Matilda. Johnny,” I con- 
tinued turning to the motionless figure that 
always established itself safely in the chimney 
corner with the coming of night and darkness, 
‘‘ please go and saddle Chris for me.” 

Johnny arose obediently, but paused on the 
threshold. Better take Luck,” he said. 

No ; Luck is tired. I’ll take Chris.” 

“ I’m afraid Luck’s little rider is tired, too,” 
father interposed, with an affectionate glance at 
me. Isn’t it asking a good deal of Elsie, 
Mattie, to ask her to add a six-mile ride late in 
the evening to what she has already done ?” 

‘‘ I don’t mind it at all,” I hastened to say, 
seeing a look of concern on aunt’s face. It does 
not follow that I am tired because my horse 


218 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


is ; I have only had to sit on his back and be 
carried around.” But I did not tell them that 
I had no notion of taking a six mile ride when 
the errand could be done by going three. I 
knew that there would be an outcry if they sus- 
pected my intention of making use of the trail 
through the canon. 

Although late in the evening — late for us 
sober valley folk — it was not very dark, a 
crescent moon hung low in the west, and it was 
by its doubtful light that I caught a glimpse of 
Florence’s anxious face, as she came noiselessly 
to my side after Johnny had brought Chris up 
to the horse block in front of the cottage, and I 
was seated in the saddle with the basket of 
grapes across my lap. 

‘‘ Elsie,” she whispered, ‘‘ I wish aunt hadn’t 
asked you to go ; it’s so dark — ” 

‘‘Not at all dark, Florence, when one gets 
used to being out.” 

“ Well ; suppose you were to meet some one, 
or something, on the road? I just wish you 
would take this.” “ This ” was a big revolver 


A WILD KIDE 


219 


that had been left in the cottage from the time 
of the Seaton occupancy. 

“ Do you mean, Flossie, that if I meet any 
one you would like to have me shoot them 

“ You know what I mean,’’ she retorted, with 
a vexed laugh. “ Do take it.’’ 

“ No ; you know very well that I couldn’t hit 
the side of a house if one should attack me. I’ll 
have to trust to luck or rather to Chris.” 

“ Don’t stay a minute later than you must,” 
she persisted, as I touched the shoulder of the 
yellow broncho, who responded by breaking 
into a trot that racked every bone in my body. 
It was in vain that I tried to induce him to lope. 
His repertoire consisted, apparently, of a walk 
and a trot alone. 

Trees ' and shrubs were nothing more than 
mere vague outlines, black shadows, peopled 
with all sorts of dreadful possibilities in the 
way of wild animals, when we began to descend 
the rocky and difficult slope along which the 
trail that formed a short cut between the Jones 
ranch and the rest of the valley wound in 


220 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


tortuous course. Chris’s slow walk became even 
slower as he picked his unwilling way down into 
the depths whose dense shadows the scant moon- 
light did not penetrate. It was very quiet. 
Only Chris’s footfall, or the rattling of a pebble 
displaced by his step and sliding away down the 
slope, and the weird, uncanny voice of the water 
as it seemed, in the darkness, to pause and listen, 
and then to hurry on the faster for its brief stay, 
broke the intense silence. I was not afraid, yet 
it was a relief when we emerged safely from the 
canon to find that the lights of the Jones resi- 
dence were shining before us. There was neither 
fence nor gate in front of the dreary little cabin 
of the cattleman, and so I rode close to the door, 
tapping upon it with the toe of my boot, for 
want of a free hand. It was promptly opened, 
and Mr. Jones himself relieved me of my load. 
I declined his invitation to alight on the score 
of the lateness of the hour, and he admitted : 

It is ruther late. Some gals would be afraid 
t’ ride ’round alone along the road so late in the 
evening.” 


A WILD RIDE 


221 


I wouldn’t be afraid to ride along the road ; 
but it is so mucli further that way that I came 
through the canon.” 

Through the canon ! Did ye ? WaF I 
swan ! Ye’ve got a consid’able pluck. Goin’ 
back that-a-way ?” 

“ Yes ; if my horse could find the way here I 
guess he’ll find the way back all right.” 

It ain’t a matter of a hoss’ findin’ his way, 
altogether,” Mr. Jones insisted, and then he 
added politely : Tell Miss Stanley that my 
wife is much obleeged for the grapes. She’s 
gittiii’ real sot on Miss Stanley, my wife is.” 
Leaving my messages and inquiring for the in- 
valid I again turned my horse’s head toward 
the canon, but Mr. Jones’s remark, It ain’t a 
matter of a boss’ findin’ his way, altogether,” 
seemed, as we again droj)ped down into the 
shadows, to have a sinister significance. I 
knew that hunters told some wild stories of this 
particular canon — a mere savage rent in the 
high mountains flanking the northern side of 
the valley — which, broadening and deepening 


222 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


as it neared the plains, became a formidable 
obstacle to travel. According to these disquiet- 
ing legends its pecularity was that it afforded 
beasts of prey a safe runway from their moun- 
tain fastnesses to the plains, where they might 
gratify their taste for beef or mutton, whichever 
came handiest, and return to the mountains 
secure from molestation. 

I had the carelessness of ignorance so far as 
any fear of wild animals went, still, it was any- 
thing but pleasant at that hour of the night, to 
find myself involuntarily recalling some of those 
stories. It was in vain that I resolutely told 
myself I would not think of such things. I 
could think of nothing else and was in the 
midst of a most thrilling recollection when 
Chris suddenly stopped. Chris was staring, as 
though fascinated, at the low branches of a 
spreading oak that overhung the trail a few 
yards in front, and was trembling as with an 
ague. If it had been Luck, cowering and cring- 
ing under me, I should have been terribly 
frightened, but I had so poor an opinion of 


A WILD KIDE 


223 


Chris’s intelligence that, after the first start of 
alarm, I was not greatly concerned. Chris was 
never reliable, and Rome, who had ridden him 
more than any of us, declared that the horse 
saw ghosts. He could account for the little 
broncho’s unreasonable fits of terror on no other 
ground, so now I struck him sharply with the 
riding whip, urging him forward. Instead of 
obeying, he literally sat down upon his 
haunches, like a dog. I was sure that he would 
have howled if he could, and sure, also, that he 
was looking at something as yet invisible to me. 
I bent forward, studying the oak tree with in- 
quiring eyes and presently I made out a curious 
phenomenon. Something was hanging sus- 
pended from one of the lower limbs of the oak ; 
something with a thick-set, tapering body, that 
was writhing and twisting slowly with a half 
circular motion. I naturally thought of snakes, 
and then remembered that there were no snakes 
in the valley ; at least that was what the people 
told us. 

Straining my eyes, I looked up into the dense 


224 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


foliage of the tree, following the swaying thing 
that was not a snake. I made out a long, lithe, 
indistinct shape crouching motionless, save for 
the tail, along the length of the oak limb, and a 
pair of yellow eyes glared down into mine like 
two points of flames. I had never before seen 
a mountain lion but I knew, beyond the shadow 
of a doubt, that I saw one now. The knowl- 
edge seemed, for the time being, to deprive me 
of my senses; if I had studied to do the worst 
thing possible I do not see how I could have 
succeeded better. Raising my whip I struck 
frantically in the direction of those gleaming 
eyes. The crazed, aimless blows fell sharply 
across the face of the broncho, who, roused into 
action whirled more swiftly than he had ever 
before moved in his life, gave one long leap on 
the backward trail, and flung me headlong to 
the ground. If I had been less unnerved by 
terror I should not have been unseated ; as it 
was, I lay on the ground, under the oak, stunned, 
but yet, not wholly unconscious, for I heard and 
recognized the clatter of Chrises flying hoofs as 


A WILD KIDE 


225 


he scattered a shower of loose shingle in his mad 
flight from the canon, but the recognition was 
too faint to concern me much. I suppose that 
I really was benumbed with terror rather than 
actually stunned, for I knew when something 
fell with a soft, heavy thud beside me, knew 
when it stood over me and glared into my face 
with those two points of yellow flame so close to 
my own half-closed eyes that their vivid rays 
seemed to scorch and burn, while the hot, heavy 
breath sent a fetid blast into my face, but I did 
not move, and the merciful trance of terror 
probably saved my life. 

Hunters say that lions will not, for the mere 
pleasure of the thing, rend any creature that 
they believe to be dead. A cat, discovering a 
dead mouse, will dine ofl* it daintily, but unless 
she is a kitten, and, therefore, frivolous, she dis- 
dains to play with it. Probably my lion was 
not, just then, pressed by hunger. I even think 
that but for the accident of Chris’s throwing me 
I might have passed safely under the oak limb. 
The creature walked around and around me as 
15 


226 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


I lay prone on the ground. The night wind 
was beginning to sweep fitfully down its accus- 
tomed path from the mountains to the plains ; 
a stray gust caught and fluttered the skirt of my 
dress, and the lion, halting instantly in its slink- 
ing promenade, laid a heavy paw upon the fab- 
ric, while its fierce eyes again sought my face. 
As I made no movement it withdrew a few 
steps, occasionally giving vent to a low growl. 
Finally it stretched itself upon the ground in 
a position favorable for watching, and lay there 
as still as the immovable rocks around us. 
Minutes passed — how many I could not know, 
but so many that I had time to wonder, in a half 
paralyzed, impersonal way, how long it would 
take a person to die of fright, for it did not 
occur to me to make any effort to save myself ; 
I only hoped, dimly, that I might die before the 
lion attacked me. Suddenly there was again a 
sound of hurrying hoofs, and a big voice — 
the voice of Koy Jones — now neither sullen 
or reserved — shouted my name, Elsie! 
Hel — lo — 00 I he — 1 — 1 — oo I Elsie The lion, 


A WILD RIDE 


227 


springing up, stood its ground uncertainly for 
an instant, but the cat-like ‘habit of caution pre- 
vailed, and it slunk noiselessly back into the 
shadow of the oak. In a second more Chris, 
unwilling, terrified, and going at a rate that no 
one familiar with his previous record would be- 
lieve possible, burst into view, bearing Hoy 
Jones on his back. Chris sprang aside, snort- 
ing and trembling again at sight of me lying 
beside the trail, and Mr. Jones leaped from the 
saddle and hastened to my side. He knelt 
down, lifting me up with an arm like that 
of a prize-fighter. I swan ! I hope you 
ain’t killed. Miss Stanley !” he ejaculated, fer- 
vently. What’s happened ? Horse throwed 
ye?” 

I sat up, pushing the hair back from my 
face. Where did the lion go ?” I asked, stu- 
pidly. 

The lion ? Hey, that’s it, is it ?” 

“ Yes,” I said ; “ and it went under that tree.” 

Mr. Jones, still supporting me with one arm, 
pulled a heavy revolver — the cowboys all call 


228 


THE GIKL RANCHEES 


them guns ” — from its sheath attached to his 
belt, and peered inquiringly into the oak 
shadows. If the lion went in there he’s 
prob’ly there yet,” he said, cocking the weapon ; 

but if he’ll let me^lone I won’t trouble him ; 
I ain’t lost no lion, not to-night. Here, let me 
help you on the boss, and we’ll perceed out o’ 
here kind o’ cautious like. The lion won’t 
tackle us as long as he thinks we’re on the watch 
for him.” 

All this time Mr. Jones had clung to Chris’s 
bridle, and Chris had been pulling mightily, in 
a transport of fear, to get away from him. In- 
stead of slackening on the bridle, and thereby 
giving the broncho a chance as he lifted me to 
the saddle, Mr. Jones put one foot on the bridle 
reins, holding the horse’s nose down close to 
the ground while he swung me up. It was a 
little thing to notice at such a time, but it was 
so effective that I could not help but observe it. 
Once in the saddle my courage returned to me. 
I did not think it at all likely that Chris would 
be able to dismount me again, whatever he might 


A WILD BIDE 


229 


do. But it was evident that Mr. Jones intended 
to take no risks. 

Sure you're all right ?” he asked, as I settled 
myself securely. 

Yes, I think so." 

‘‘Very well, then; now, you make it your 
business to stay right there, and I'll do the 
rest." He stepped forward cautiously as he 
spoke, gun in hand, but we passed the tree in 
safety, and, before we were out of the canon I 
was giving him the details of my encounter with 
the lion. “You had a close squeak for it, no 
mistake," was his candid summing up. “ You 
see, that there canon ain't never over'n above 
safe, not after night it ain't ; but I didn't want 
to tell you that after you'd jest been through it, 
so I thought I hang 'round out-doors, after you 
started for home, until I was sure you had had 
time to git through the canon all right, and 
whilst I was loitering 'round, what should come 
a-tearing up to the door but your boss ! I 
knowed that that meant something wrong, of 
course. I hope you won't lay it up. agin me 


230 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


that I was a-hollering your name that-a-way 
back yon. I bad to yell the name • that I 
thought would git to you quickest.^’ 

I hastened to reassure him on that point, and, 
his tongue, perhaps, loosened by the strangeness 
of the adventure, he went on to tell me of vari- 
ous encounters that he had had with the wild 
creatures of the mountains, creatures that he 
classified under the one generic title of brute 
beasts.’’ He kept his place by my bridle rein 
until we had nearly reached the door of our 
cottage. Then he stopped abruptly in the 
midst of a bear story to say : 

Wal, I reckon you’ll git home the rest o’ 
the way all right, but don’t ye make a short cut 
of the Devil’s Furrow any more after dark. 
Good-night.” An instant more and he was out 
of sight. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

Running Wolf’s hurt proved to be rather 
a serious matter. He stayed with us nearly a 
week, during which time father, who had taken 
a silent man’s fancy to another equally silent, 
dressed his wound and asked no questions, but, 
at the close of the fourth day, the patient him- 
self developed an unexpected vein of curiosity. 
When alone with Aunt Matilda he began ask- 
ing questions. He inquired in quite fair English, 
for all that he was so taciturn, where the “ Light 
of Day ” — meaning Florence, as aunt made out 
with some difficulty, and the little dark squaw, 
meaning me, as she made out with no difficulty 
at all — went every morning. Aunt Matilda ex- 
plained at length about the sheep, and Running 
Wolf nodded silent comprehension. He made 
no comments, not even when aunt, glad of the 
opportunity to pour the tale of her troubles into 

231 


232 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


an ear that she believed to be friendly, told of 
our increasing anxiety about the sheep-shearing, 
which, in common humanity, must be attended 
to next week if at all. 

Bet' not 'tall ; bet' sell 'em," said Kunning 
Wolf, and said no more, but, later in the day, 
he asked, “ Light of Day goin' wash 'em 
sheep ?" 

“I don't know," said Aunt Matilda, help- 
lessly, and instantly added, Why, no. How 
could she ? Poor child !" 

Light of Day can sing," the Indian resumed 
calmly^ her sing ; that all right." 

‘‘Singing won't shear the sheep," Aunt Matilda 
informed him irritably. Punning Wolf looked 
as though he had a different opinion, but he said 
nothing. He was anxious to get back to the 
Reservation, explaining that this continued 
absence night tell against him. Indians absent 
from the Reservation without leave were pun- 
ished by being deprived — at the Agent's dis- 
cretion — of a portion — small or large as the case 
might be — of the monthly allotment of beef and 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


233 


clothing, and often suffered imprisonment in the 
guard-house for such offenses. 

I goin’ kill what man tries to put me in the 
guard-house,’’ Running Wolf told us with quiet 
decision, as he recited this schedule of Agency 
rules to us : ‘‘I never been in no more prison 
than Reservation ; that ’nuff. Not goin’ stay in 
no white man’s wick-i-up less’n I want to.” 

“ I should suppose that there would not be the 
least danger of your being treated with such 
severity,” father said. Your accident is excuse 
enough for your absence.” 

Been a good many away from Reservation 
without leave. Agent say he goin’ to make 
’samples of ’em when they come in. Agent say 
to me, I go to Louisiana Medina’s wick-i-up ; 
talk at him, buy some blankets. Say I go two 
days ; not say I smash foot and go five day 
already.” 

Well, but a glance at your foot is enough. 
He' can see how impossible it would have 
been for you to proceed after getting such a 
hurt.” 


234 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


Running Wolf shook his head. “Indian 
bad/’ he said candidly. “ Agent think maybe 
I make smash ; stay away longer.” The old 
man’s distress so plainly increased as the hours 
went by that father bethought himself of a means 
by which he might not only get him home hut 
also explain the reason of his stay in order to 
avert any threatened punishment. 

“ I’ll lend you a horse, Running Wolf, and 
ride over with you to-morrow ; then I’ll tell the 
agent just how it is,” he said. Running Wolf 
heard of this plan in stolid silence, but early the 
next morning, glancing out of the window as I 
was dressing, whom should I see limping away 
down the road but Running Wolf! He had 
slipped quietly out of the house and started on 
the long and painful tramp alone, rather than 
have any discussion as to the propriety of the 
move with the white man who was so bent on 
befriending him. I must confess to having 
taken a fancy to him myself, and the sight of 
him limping resolutely away from us sent a pang 
to my heart. 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


235 


Twice during the season, and before I had 
taken up the arduous life of a shepherdess, I 
had joined a party of young people — valley 
residents bound on a picnic — in making the 
ascent of Mount Kenneth. To picnic on that 
grand peak seemed to me little short of sacrilege, 
but my scruples did not deter me from going. 
After all, the gay riding party went no farther 
than the timber line, and I felt that I had 
learned the trail without belittling the mountain 
that I so respected. I had never descended the 
trail on the farther side, but Kunning Wolf 
would know the way. If Florence would take 
charge of the flock for the day what was to 
hinder my taking the Indian over to the Agency? 
I felt all the more eager to help him since his 
quiet departure told more plainly than words 
could have done, what he thought of father’s 
attempting such a feat. I did not want him to 
suffer for his. consideration to a sick man. 

I finished dressing in haste and ran out after 
him. ‘‘Wait, Running Wolf, wait. I’ll take 
you over the mountain.” 


236 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


‘‘Little squaw take? All right. Lots of 
squaw. Not many good white mans/’ and with 
these uncomplimentary words the old man sat 
down in the dust by the roadside, “ Bring on 
horse,” he said. 

“ Well, hut you must come hack to the house 
and get some breakfast, so must I, then we’ll 
start right off.” 

“ Little squaw go back ’n’ eat ; me stay here ; 
me got breakfas’.” He produced a leathery look- 
ing string of venison from the pouch under his 
blanket, and began chewing at one end of it 
with stolid determination. I knew by this time 
that it was quite useless to argue with him, but 
I could not forbear saying : 

“ I think you had better come back. Running 
Wolf.” 

“ Me go on ; me not go back. Good white 
man sick. Cough, cough, laugh, say ‘ all right, 
me got a little tickle in windpipe.’ No say he 
sick. If Running Wolf go back to get on pony, 
white man get on one, too, ride, ride, tire all out; 
cough, cough, no more laugh. Me no go back.” 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


237 


“I am afraid you are right; stay here and 
Til come in a few minutes.’’ 

Father, who had had a bad night, raised no 
special objections to my taking his place in 
going over the mountain. I knew very well 
that he was far from understanding what an 
undertaking it really was, and was thankful 
that there was small chance of his being enlight- 
ened. Florence, who appreciated the situation 
better, objected strenuously to my going on such 
an errand. 

You’ll get lost ; you’ll never find your way 
home alone after you get the Indian safe to the 
Reservation.” 

Florence, the horses will know the home- 
ward trail whether I do or not. I’ll leave it to 
them if I get confused. Don’t worry, be a prac- 
tical Bo-peep, and expect me home not much 
later than usual.” 

The trip, which was so formidable to look at 
was accomplished in perfect safety. I saw the 
agent, a gentlemanly man with a rather stern 
face, who politely commended what he was 


238 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


pleased to call my courage and kindness in 
bringing Running Wolf into the fold. I be- 
spoke his clemency for the silent victim who 
disdained to make any explanations himself, and, 
having taken dinner with the agent^s wife, and 
jnade a number of pleasant acquaintances, I was 
in the saddle and on my homeward way before 
two o’clock. The road led past the tepee or 
lodge or whatever he called it, of Running 
Wolf, whom I found seated outside his abode 
waiting to give me a parting word, which I ac- 
cepted in the same spirit of friendliness in which 
it was offered, although I had not the faintest 
conception of its meaning. ‘‘ Two suns, we 
come, Light of Day. Little squaw be there,” 
he said. 

I was home before Florence, and a good deal 
elated at having added another route to my list 
of mountain trails. I was anxious to become 
acquainted with the country in all directions. 

Rome was unusually busy with his irrigating 
ditch about this time and we saw less of him 
than usual, but lie happened to call that even- 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


239 


ing. He had been down to Mr. Davis’ store 
and stopped to regale us with some bits of valley 
gossip on his return. 

‘‘ Wool’s gone up ; way up,” he told us, among 
other things. “ If you can get your sheep sheared 
all right, Miss Stanley, you’ll make a pile of 
money, over ’n’ above expenses ; there’s been 
some kind of a disease among the sheep down 
South, and the clip don’t amount to more’n 
half as much as it gen’lly does. That shortage 
has sent the price of wool up booming. Your 
stock is in prime condition now, and if we can 
get the shearing done and the clip marketed 
while the price is up, you’ll get a snug pile for 
your summer’s work, girls. But, gracious, I 
wish’t some one would tell us how the shearing’s 
to be done. When this business does jiay it pays 
big ; when it don’t it makes one feel creepy. I 
wish I could shear the sheep myself, but I can’t, 
and there’s no use talking, it needs about forty 
good, active men. They would get it all done 
in one day. I reckon it would take me single- 
handed, with what I don’t know about the 


240 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


business, all the rest of my natural life, and I 
expect to live to be ]3Tetty old, too.” 

The next day, while I watched the flock, 
Florence rode about the valley again in hopeless 
quest of the shearers that, apparently, did not 
exist. The swarthy sons of Mexico whom she 
interviewed blessed her going and her coming, 
but work for her they would not. I am afraid 
that we began to feel unreason ably bitter toward 
them. Our need of their services was so great, 
we offered them alluring wages, but they were 
afraid ; the shadow of the cattlemen’s wrath 
was heavy upon them. The fire of that wrath 
was smoldering, not dead, by any means, 
although, save social and commercial ostracism, 
we had not felt its fury since driving the sheep 
out on the plains. The shearers knew very 
well that their poor homes, their lives, even, 
were in danger if they were caught giving aid 
to us, the innocent owners of some sheep that 
these cattlemen had said should not remain in 
the valley — not even upon land that belonged 
to their owners. When it came to the rights 


A FKIEND IN NEED 


241 


of property considered from that standpoint, 
the cattlemen insisted that a principle was at 
stake. Beside, the land outside on the plains 
where the sheep were now grazing was only 
leased school land, and some of the cattlemen 
said that the land agent had no right to lease 
land for sheep-grazing purposes. 

It gradually dawned upon us that in his haste 
to be rid of his troublesome stock Mr. Seaton 
had even suffered the financial loss entailed by 
not shearing the sheep when they were in his 
hands ; for it was a thing that should have been 
done before they came into our possession. That 
seemed strange at first ; afterward it did not. 
It resolved itself into another instance of Mr. 
Seaton’s far-reaching shrewdness. But it was 
quite by accident that we discovered that, and 
this is not the time to tell it. 

There was a sort of outer pen built in connec- 
tion with the plains’ corral, into which sheep 
were driven after washing, the washing pen it- 
self being built out into the San Coulee at a spot 
where the rugged, precipitous banks happened 
16 


242 


THE GTKL EANCHEES 


to give way, allowing an easy outlet to the 
j)lains. From this water pen two walled lanes 
diverged, the one leading to the large corral, the 
other to the outer pen where they were penned 
after washing to await the work of the shearers. 

It was with heavy hearts and downcast faces 
that Florence and I approached the scene of our 
daily labors on the morning of the third day 
after I had helped Running Wolf to reach the 
Reservation. Florence was in tears. She had 
worked under the relentless strain of a newly 
awakened sense of duty during all these weeks 
of exposure to the blazing sun on fair days or 
the cold, misty rain on the infrequent dark days, 
and now saw the whole profit of those days of 
toil, and all that we hoped to gain by that profit, 
slipping through our helpless fingers, all for the 
want of a few men for a few hours. 

“ They will ruin us ; they will drive us away, 
Elsie,” she said, brokenly. ‘‘We cannot stand 
up against them. The failure to get shearers is 
just as bad for us in every way as the stampede, 
and more discouraging. They mean to keep 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


243 


the Mexicans terrorized so that they will not 
work for us. I don^t mean about the herding — 
we can manage that, I suppose, even in winter.” 

The question of the care of this great herd of 
sheep in winter had troubled me not a little, 
but I had not spoken of it, for the reason that I 
was trying to live up to the homely wisdom 
embodied in President Lincoln’s reply to the 
timid fellow -traveler who was anxiously won- 
dering as they journeyed toward it how they 
were to cross the Sangamon River, the stream 
being at flood and the bridges gone. Lincoln 
said impressively, My dear sir, I make it a 
rule never to cross the Sangamon River until I 
get there.” I told myself that I would not allow 
the thought of any of our possible bugbears to 
worry me until they actually confronted me, 
but in the case of the sheep shearing the bug- 
bear was already confronting and staring us 
menacingly in the face. 

As we surmounted the last gentle swell that 
brought us in sight of the corral where we had 
left the sheep safely penned the night before, 


244 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


we drew rein and stared in speechless amaze- 
ment at the scene before us. The sun was just 
rising, sending long, level shafts of light straight 
from his throne in the east until their flaming 
glory touched and transflgured for an instant a 
line of large rounded, objects strung along the 
river bank close by the sheep-washing pen, 
making them look, for the nonce, like symmet- 
rical golden haystacks. Then the glory faded, 
became diffused, and we saw that the golden 
haystacks were only a half-dozen dingy, smoke- 
stained Indian tepees. But that was not all ; 
the sliding gate at the back of the corral, open- 
ing upon the water lane, had been unlocked and 
a line of reluctant sheep were being urged along 
the narrow way toward the water pen by two or 
three swarthy men. Already — it seemed im- 
possible, but we had the evidence of our own 
eyesight for it — a score or more of shorn and 
bleating victims — looking ridiculously small 
and foolish without the heavy fleeces to which 
we, and they, had become accustomed — were 
venturing timidly out toward their usual feed- 


A FKIEND IN NEED 


245 


ing grounds. And Felix ? Felix with his alert, 
official air, was here, there, and everywhere, 
urging on the unwilling candidates for a bath, 
and scattering.the shivering, silly creatures who 
hung about bewildered by the transformation 
they had undergone out upon the plains. He 
was evidently upon the best of terms with each 
and every member of the swarthy host that had 
encamped beside his charges. 

‘‘ What, what does it mean ?’’ gasped Flor- 
ence. 

I'm not quite sure, Flossie ; but I think it 
means that our sheep shearing is well under 
way," I replied. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 

We rode nearer, but very slowly. Presently 
out from the entrance to one of the tepees, a 
dusky figure hobbled, stared at us a moment, 
and then advanced to meet us. It was Run- 
ning Wolf, his face one broad smile of satisfac- 
tion. 

Light of Day sing ; Indians wash sheep, 
shear sheep, all done soon,” he proclaimed, 
waving his hand toward the scene of activity 
where, it appeared to me, an entire Indian tribe 
were industriously working. 

<< Why — but — but — Indians ! I never knew 
that they — could — would do such things !” 
stammered Florence. * 

These good Indians ; not war-path Indians. 
No.” There was a grave dignity in the manner 
in which he spoke of the virtues of this par- 
ticular tribe that seemed to forbid further in- 
246 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 247 

quiry. Florence and I, dazed with astonishment, 
rode down to the river pen, where more than a 
dozen men were washing the struggling sheep. 
I looked attentively at the Indians in the water 
and shearing-pen. They were smaller, as a 
rule, than any Indians I had ever before seen ; 
their faces were brown, their white teeth 
gleamed through lips parted in frequent good- 
natured smiles ; their voices — when they spoke, 
which was seldom — were mellow, and the 
few low words that they used were Spanish, 
but their costume — what there was of it — was 
unmistakably, indeed, rather obtrusively, In- 
dian. 

They worked fast, with a certain air of sec- 
recy and furtive watchfulness. One slender, 
brown-limbed brave whom I saw scrubbing away 
at a sheep, up to his hips in water, had a face 
so like that of our own vanished Mexican herder 
that he might — save for the dress, have been his 
twin brother, but he was plainly an Indian, for 
he wore an eagle’s feather dangling loosely from 
his long black locks. 


248 


THE GMEL RANCHERS 


‘‘Elsie/’ whispered Florence, riding up to 
my side, “ they are Mexicans.” Running Wolf, 
who had hobbled quickly after us, laid his hand 
on her pony’s mane. 

“ They are Indians, Light of Lay, they are 
Indians !” he declared, almost fiercely. En- 
lightenment was slowly dawning upon us. 

“ They are Indians — for to-day,” I said. 

Running Wolf looked at me, his keen eyes 
flashing. 

“ Mexican shearer ’fraid of cattleman ; git out 
here; git shot,” he said slowly. “’Fraid to 
shear ’em sheep for white squaws. Indian not 
’fraid. Agency officers goin’ make it hot for 
any man what hurt Indian. Cattleman let 
Indian ’lone. Cowboy ride ’long past corral ; 
see Indian shearin’, scowl, say nottin’, go ’bout 
their business ” — which was, in fact, a thing 
that had already happened. “ See Mexican 
shearin’,” continued Running Wolf impres- 
sively, “ ride up, say, ‘ Ho, you scoundrels ! git 
out o’ that or I shoot !’ Mexican then git out, 
sheep no shear.” 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 249 

‘‘ But what if the cowboys go to the Mexican 
houses and find them gone?” I asked. 

Bunning Wolf chuckled. ‘‘No fin^ ^em — 
gone ; all men ’roun’ home. Mexicans to-day ; 
Indians to-morrow.” 

This, then, was Bunning Wolfs strategic 
scheme, as well as the explanation of his last 
words to me. There were fifty or more men at 
work in and around the corral, which meant that 
Bunning Wolf had been able to install as many 
Indians for the day in the various Mexican 
houses up and down the Coulee. The plan was 
as safe as it was shrewd, for, even if, as was not 
very likely to happen, an inquisitive rider 
should stop at one of the Mexican houses, the 
head of the family had but to show himself at 
a safe distance — out of talking range — and slink 
away, leaving the burden of conversation to be 
carried on by the women. This was customary, 
as the women were, almost without excejition, 
much better linguists than the men. 

“ Bunning Wolf,” I said in a hurst of grat- 
itude, “ your plan is glorious ! glorious ! But 


250 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


how in the world did you get permission to 
bring so many men from the Reservation 

“ Indian j)olice bad Indians, been drinking 
much firewater las^ two day,’’ replied Running 
Wolf with a gravity that repelled the suspicion 
that he himself might have been instrumental 
in furnishing the betraying firewater to the 
mounted police whose duty it was to patrol the 
Indian village and make sure that none were 
missing. 

‘‘ You goin’ give two wage for dis’ ?” Running 
Wolf asked suddenly. 

‘‘ You mean double pay ? Yes, we will.” 

He shook his head. ‘‘ No mean two pays for 
one man. One day wage for mens here ; one 
day wage for mens in houses.” 

Oh, yes ; yes indeed. I see now. It shall 
be just as you say. Running Wolf, and we are, 
oh, so grateful to you besides. You are the 
general who planned all this, and have taken so 
much risk with your lame foot and all, you will 
let us pay you — ” 

‘‘Yes,” interrupted the Indian quickly. “You 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 251 

goin’ pay me big, big There was a sudden 
lighting of his saturnine countenance, ^‘you 
goin’ pay me now.” 

“ How ?” I asked in some alarm. 

Light of Day goin’ sit on yon^ rock near 
wash-pen and sing, ‘ In the fair-hy li-hight, 
of a sum-mah ni-ght, on ’e ba-hanks of ’e bl-hue 
more-shell!’” There was something inexpress- 
ibly ludicrous in the old man’s attempt— made 
in absolute good faith — to imitate Florence’s 
voice and even the little affectations of her 
pronunciation. 

Flossie’s face turned scarlet. I bit my lips 
and looked long at the mirage of spectre pine 
trees, gliding and breaking in endless procession 
at the base of the far-off Kattlesnake Buttes, 
before I could find voice to say steadily, I 
think that is a very nice arrangement.” 

‘‘ Yes, I make that ’rangement with shearers. 
They work. Light of Day sing. Little dark 
squaw look on. Come.” 

We had already dismounted, letting our 
ponies’ bridles trail cowboy fashion, while they 


252 


THE GIKL KANCHERS 


grazed at will. We followed Running Wolf to 
the place indicated. He had already spread a 
blanket on the rock. Florence seated herself 
and sang steadily for nearly two hours, Run- 
ning Wolf lying prone upon the ground at her 
feet and keeping his eyes closed in a state of 
blissful silence. He paid no attention what- 
ever to the shearers ; his business had been to 
get them there. They could do the rest. 

Florence, who was getting very tired, said at 
last, ‘‘ My sister sings.” 

Ugh — mebbe — don’t look like it. Sing,” 
commanded our benefactor. I complied with 
the order to the best of my ability, and when I 
had concluded he complimented my performance 
by remarking : ‘‘ Little dark squaw like mock 
bird ; not much to look at ; good to hear sing. 
Sing again.” The poor old fellow’s spiritual 
nature was starved, he was insatiable in his 
eagerness for music, yet he evidently did not 
intend to be at all hard on us, only, to an Indian, 
a woman of whatever color is always a squaw 
and no more. 


THE SHEAKING OF THE SHEEP 253 

When, later than usual, Florence and I 
mounted our ponies and started home that 
evening, there was no sign of an Indian en- 
campment anywhere in the vicinity, but the 
corral sheds were piled high with hundreds of 
pounds of clean, white fleeces, and inside the 
corral two thousand seven hundred and sixty- 
five newly-shorn sheep huddled, crouching to- 
gether for warmth. Felix, with the satisfied air 
of one who has done a good day’s work, as, in- 
deed, he had, lay in his box beside the closed 
gates, his nose on his paws, his watchful eyes 
blinking drowsily. We were both so hoarse 
from much singing that we could scarcely speak, 
but our hearts were light, lighter than they had 
been since the night that the Mexican herders 
had come to tell us that they could no longer 
work for us, for the clip was saved, and the 
payment on our home assured. Running Wolf 
had stipulated that we should ‘‘ make no talk ” 
as he expressed it, but should put the pay for 
the day’s work in a hollow rock beside the trail 
to the upper Coulee, the location of which he 


. 254 


THE GIEL KANCHEES 


minutely described. ‘‘ Put it there to-night, 
then go home,” he admonished us. The place 
that he mentioned was about a mile from our 
cottage. 

We got the money of. Aunt Matilda, who 
fairly cried with joy when she found what had 
taken place, then rode to the rock, and were 
back again by the time twilight had fairly 
merged into early night. Rome called that 
evening, much troubled in mind over our un- 
shorn sheep — it was an exquisite pleasure to 
tell him that the work was done. ‘‘Done by a 
band of roving Indians from the Reservation.” 

“ I’m all-fired glad it’s done in some way,” 
he said, “ but it’s the first time I ever knew a 
Reservation Indian to do anything so much like 
work.” 

It really seemed disloyal to this good man, 
who had always been such a steadfast friend 
in time of need, not to tell him how the work 
had been done. I reasoned that Running Wolf 
himself would probably have made an exception 
in his favor, and so I told him, forgetting in the 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 255 

interest of my story that father's door was open 
and that it was quite too early for him to be 
asleep. He had retired very early, being more 
than usually tired from the effect of a day's 
labor in which it had been impossible to make 
use of Johnny's willing but ignorant help. He 
had been enlarging his brick-kiln, and Johnny 
could not understand his directions, so, as I have 
said, father went to bed very weary, but my 
story woke him up most effectually. He arose, 
dressed in silence, and came out into the room 
where we were sitting. 

Now tell me all about it," he said, sitting 
down quite heedless of our ill-concealed con- 
sternation. ‘‘Why was all this secrecy neces- 
sary about the sheep shearing ? Why has 
it been so difficult all along for us to hire 
herders when there are scores of Mexicans out 
of work here in the valley ? Why did Mr. 
Seaton allow the herders that we did have to 
keep the flock penned in the upper valley until 
they were half starved ? Why — " 

“ Don't you think you have asked questions 


256 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


enough for one evening, Hugh ?’’ asked Aunt 
Matilda with unusual asperity. I think she 
was rather frightened as to the effect on him of 
the disclosure that she foresaw must come. 

No, Matilda, I don’t ; my only regret is 
that I have been too stupidly selfish to ask them 
before. Now I mean to find out. I mean to 
find out why a band of Mexican sheep shearers 
must masquerade as Indians bf^fore they can 
safely do their work, if I have to walk over the 
mountain to ask old Running Wolf himself, 
who seems to know all about our business.” 

I told him,” confessed Aunt Matilda ; I 
was in sore distress, I had to tell some one.” 

And not having any brother handy you 
chose our red friend as a confidant ; your choice 
seems to have been a wise one.” 

Now, Hugh, we kept it from you lest it 
should worry you. You would not have been 
in such health as you are to-day if you had 
known all.” 

Perhaps not, Mattie. I do not question the 
unselfishness of your motive.^ You have all 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 257 

sacrificed yourselves for me as usual. You 
have meant to spare me — what 

Evasion or concealment was now out of the 
question. 

You tell him, Eome,” said Aunt Matilda, 
with the air of one who yields against her 
better judgment. WeVe got the wool clip, 
any way,’’ she murmured, fortifying herself 
with that fact. 

‘‘ I have suspected for some time that all was 
not right,” father said, when Eome had related 
at length the attitude and claims of the cattle- 
men, but I am so proud of my girls, my two 
brave, unselfish girls, that it is almost worth 
while to have had this experience, hard as it is, 
just to know what they can do when the occa- 
sion calls for it. But it won’t do to try even the 
highest mettle beyond a certain point, you know, 
and it appears to me we have quite reached that 
point.” 

Why, papa I” ejaculated Florence hoarsely, 
‘‘when the clip is all wooled — I mean when 
the wool is all clipped, and stored ready for 
17 


258 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


marketing ! And if you are going to talk 
of bravery, think of Eunning Wolf and his 
band of kidnapped followers ! May the Agency 
officers be good to them 

‘‘ The day’s experience seems to have tried 
your voice as well as that of the little dark 
squaw,” father said, laughingly. But it’s all 
too risky ; we had better give in to the cattle- 
men — until such time as they think best to 
keep sheep themselves at least. You have, if 
you will forgive me for saying it, followed your 
noses too closely ; you have not even entertained 
the idea, it appears, that there can be any other 
business than sheep ranching.” 

‘‘ Well, with wooU at twenty-five cents a 
pound, as it is in Belmont to-day, there ain’t 
much use in thinking of anything else,” inter- 
posed Eome. ‘‘Your venture, thanks to your own 
kindness and the young ladies singing and old 
Eunning Wolf’s susceptibility, has turned out 
most uncommon well, or it will have turned 
out so if we get the clip marketed whilst the 
price is up, and I’ll hel]) you see to that. The 


THE SHEARING OF THE SHEEP 259 


cattlemen make a big mistake in running 
all the sheep out of this country, but they’ll 
stick to it for awhile now if it’s only out 
of spite.” 

Within three days the clip was marketed, 
the balance due Mr. Seaton for the ranch sent 
. him, and a goodly sum left to our credit in the 
bank as the result of our summer’s work. 


CHAPTEE XVIII 


NEWS EKOM HOME 

Father was so aroused by what he had heard 
of the dangers attendant upon sheep ranching 
in a country dominated by cattlemen, that the 
purpose he had declared of getting rid of the 
flock did not flag as the days went by. The 
necessity for action, for arousing himself to an 
intelligent comprehension of the matter, so far 
from unduly exciting him, or making him worse, 
seemed, really, to do him good. The store, 
where we were in the habit of purchasing such 
supplies as were not brought in by the freight 
wagons by special arrangement, had become 
rather a favorite lounging place with him, and, 
it is probable, he would soon have found out all 
that we did not wish him to know in regard to 
the way our neighbors felt toward us had not 
Aunt Matilda taken the precaution to visit the 
storekeeper and earnestly impress uj)on him the 
260 


NEWS FROM HOME 


261 . 


necessity of keeping such troublesome knowl- 
edge from the invalid. Mr. Davis promised to 
do his best in this particular, and he kept his 
word. He succeeded so well that father never 
so much as suspected the reason why Mr. Davis 
was so prone to direct his attention to some 
object of interest outside of the store when there 
was any one present whom he thought it best 
that father should not meet. But the time of 
blissful ignorance was past, now that the wool 
was sold and the last dollar of our indebtedness 
on the San Coulee ranch paid, he announced to 
Aunt Matilda that he was going to see Mr. 
Davis and have a talk with him as to what was 
best to be done with our woolly charges. 

Aunt Matilda no longer objected. ‘‘We’ve 
had such wonderful luck,” she said, “ it seems 
almost like tempting providence to ask that it 
should be continued.” But afterward her sense 
of caution took alarm and she said, “ I do hope, 
Hugh, that you’re not thinking of buying Mr. 
Davis’ store !” Since the ranch was paid for 
and money still in the bank she seemed to feel 


‘ 262 THE GIRL RANCHERS 

that we were really another lot of Roths- 
childs. 

Father smiled. I’ll not buy it to-day, Mat- 
tie, unless he will sell for — let me see — he felt 
in his pockets and presently fished out a nickel 
— for five cents, and I doubt if he’ll do that.” 

He sells five sticks of pepj)ermint for a 
nickel,” Vevie informed him. 

Father tossed up the coin. ‘‘ Get your hat 
and come with me, will-o’-the-wisp. We’ll see 
if he can have any peppermint left at that 
price.” 

When he returned in the afternoon he looked 
elated. “ The difficulty is solved, Mattie,” he 
said as he entered the house with the step that 
was still slow and feeble for all his buoyant 
sjoirit. 

Well, you’ve earned a rest, then,” aunt said, 
pulling an easy chair toward a sunny corner. 

I just expect nothing else but that you’ll be 
down sick with all this worry ; I wish we had 
never let you into our silly troubles that we 
ought to have borne alone.” 


NEWS FROM HOME 


263 


‘‘ I shall never cease to wonder that you and 
the girls were able to -bear them alone so long, 
Matilda ; but now that the ranch is paid for, I 
think we may safely embark in another business. 
Something in which we will need no help but 
such as Johnny can give and that will not 
oblige my poor girls to expose themselves to 
such perils as they have been doing.” 

Whatever it is, if it can do that, it will be 
a welcome change,” Aunt Matilda admitted. 

But, indeed, Hugh, I’m afraid there is 
nothing. If you — you are thinking of some 
new invention,” she went on hesitatingly. I 
know, of course, that it will be a good one, 
but—” 

It will be a new invention in San Coulee, 
Mattie,” father said, smiling. ‘‘ Come, now, 
Matilda, these cattle kings have snubbed and 
hounded us, suppose we return good for evil by 
supplying them with fruit.” 

Aunt Matilda’s face fell. ‘‘ If you mean that 
we are to start a fruit ranch, Hugh, it’s the one 
thing I would like above all others. Poor 


264 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Johnny would be just as useful then as one 
with the brightest wits, but I’m afraid it’s im- 
possible.” 

I see that you have given the matter some 
thought. Among other things have you ever 
thought of an irrigating ditch ?” 

An irrigating ditch ? Why, Hugh, it 
would take a fortune to bring the waters of 
San Coulee, deep as the stream is in its banks, 
up to the level of our acres !” 

There is a singularly obliging fellow by the 
name of Kome Beaumont, who has succeeded 
in turning the San Coulee, or the south branch 
of it, which is, I am told, more tractable than 
the main stream, in the direction that he 
wishes it to flow. The ditch on which he has 
been so long working is completed. He was 
compelled to blast a tunnel through a half 
dozen yards of solid rock to get the water where 
he wants it, but he’s got it. Instead of turning 
his ditch back into the main river, as he does 
now, after it has served his purpose, there can 
be nothing easier, Mr. Davis says, than to bring 


NEWS FROM HOME 


265 


it skirting along the edge of our valley. Then 
we can irrigate every inch of our land if we 
choose.” 

Tm thinking that’s what we’ll choose !” 
cried Aunt Matilda with sparkling eyes. If 
we can really get water on this land, we never 
need trouble ourselves as to the future. I tell 
you now, Hugh, it has almost broken my 
heart to see our girls obliged to do the work 
they have done this summer. And they have 
done it so cheerfully, too, even Florence, and 
you know how she has always regarded any 
personal hardship hitherto.” 

Yes ; but it will break my heart if they 
are obliged to keep this up much longer.” 

I haven’t seemed to mind their doing it,” 
Aunt Matilda went on, because I knew they 
had to do it ; there was no choice ; now it is 
different. We must see Rome and get his ad- 
vice about disposing of the flock. He’ll be 
glad enough to do that ; he’s always wanted us 
to sell.” 


‘‘ Has he ? He’s a good man.” 


266 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


‘‘ And so disinterested, too !” Aunt Matilda 
declared warmly. 

Oil ! yes, yes ; but do you tbink, Matilda, 
that he’s entirely disinterested ?” 

‘‘Well, Hugh, I am surprised! You- are 
usually the last person in the world to attribute 
a kindness to interested motives. I — really, 
Hugh, it pains me to hear you speak in that 
way. He would never take any pay, and he 
never spared himself in our service. I own 
that I did think, along at first, that he might 
be attracted by Florence, but I’m quite sure 
that was a mistake. He is so much older than 
she, and — ” 

“ He’s just about your age, isn’t he, Mattie ?” 

“ Yes, I think he is ; just about.” 

Father’s eyes were twinkling. Aunt’s face — 
still very fresh and sweet to look upon, turned 
a glowing crimson. She sat for a moment in 
silence, considering the revelation that father’s 
words afibrded. Presently Vevie, who had been 
sitting at the table poring over a book with 
absorbed interest, brought the volume to her. 


NEWS FROM HOME 


267 


It was a drawing-book, filled with sketches for 
the benefit of the portrait painter. Vevie had 
been studying the page devoted to the delinea- 
tion of human mouths'. Do you think one of 
those might be a miner^s mouth, auntie?’’ she 
inquired seriously. 

Aunt, grown suddenly sensitive on the sub- 
ject of miners, turned red. I don’t know, I’m 
sure ; why do you ask ?” 

‘‘ Mr. Davis said that we could raise straw- 
berries here big enough to fill a miner’s mouth. 
I wanted to know how big that would be, but 
if you don’t know. I’ll ask Mr. Rome to let me 
measure his mouth when he comes again.” 

Father laughed aloud at that. “ Darling, w'e’ll 
raise some large enough to fill your mouth, at 
all events. Oh, Matilda, I have a letter for 
you ; I had nearly forgotten it.” He fumbled 
in two or three different pockets before finding 
it, but, just as aunt was resignedly coming to 
the conclusion that he had either lost or mislaid 
it, he brought it forth. From our aesthetic 
friend, Mrs. Elliot, I judge, from the style of 


268 


THE GIEL EANCHEES 


the envelope. You observe that there is a crest. 
What is it ? A small fairy with large wings T* 

They are the wings of a goose, if any. It 
puts me out of all patience to see such affecta- 
tion.^’ 

Aunt Matilda tore the letter open with small 
regard for the crest. We had little time for 
letter-writing in those busy days, and news from 
our old home was eagerly welcomed, crest or no 
crest. The chief interest of Mrs. Elliot’s letter 
lay in the closing paragraph. 

By the way,” it ran, I met young Donald 
Arleigh on the street this afternoon. He is 
looking extremely well, even handsome — ” 
‘‘As if he didn’t always look handsopae,” mut- 
tered Aunt Matilda, indignantly. “ It was 
quite a surprise to me to learn,” the letter went 
on, “ as I did when he addressed me that he 
had no knowledge of your removal from the 
city. He was desirous of obtaining your pres- 
ent address, which I took pleasure in giving 
him, for it may be that he is as the prodigal 
son returning to his husks — I should say, from 


NEWS FROM HOME 269 

his husks — and a word of friendly greeting now 
may set the young man’s wandering feet in the 
right path.” Aunt read the paragraph aloud 
deliberately, then she laid the letter down softly 
with a low sigh. The mention of Donald’s 
name was to tear a healing wound afresh. After 
an interval father said, in a quivering voice : 

“ I could bear it better, Matilda, if the mys- 
tery of his disappearance could be explained ; 
if he had a reason for — Oh ! Donald, Donald !” 
The words ended in a groan. 

“ Don’t, Hugh.” 

Father got up and began to walk the room 
greatly agitated. Vevie, the spiritual echo of 
another’s moods, went to his side, and, slipping 
her hand into his, gravely kept step with him. 
Then the greyhound rose and trailed solemnly 
after them. Father stopped, the black shadow 
lifted from his face as he sat down and took 
Vevie on his knee. 

We make quite a circus, darling, you and I 
and Calif. Come, let us tell auntie some more 
of what Mr. Davis said about our fruit ranch.” 


CHAPTEE XIX 


A SECOND STAMPEDE 

I HAD formed the habit, since coming to 
Coulee valley, of awaking very early, and I 
usually treated myself, in consequence, to a few 
minutes silent listening to the chorus of mocking 
birds, as they sang their loudest in the hour 
just before dawn. In June they had nested in 
the cottonwood grove on the flat, just below the 
turn of the river, and their songs were enough 
to make one thankful that God had put such 
bits of feathered melody on earth. In Sep- 
tember they still haunted the grove, with a less 
jubilant song. I awoke as usual one morning 
and lay listening drowsily, knowing that when 
their more sleepy-headed rivals, the golden 
robins in the alder thickets along the river 
itself, took up the strain, it would be time to 
get up and begin preparations for the day’s 
work. But I was destined not to hear the 
270 


A SECOND STAMPEDE 


271 


golden robins that morning, or, if I did, not 
to heed them ; I was thinking how like half- 
smothered musical laughter the songs of the 
mocking birds sounded, when a sharp, insistent 
whisper reached my ears. Elsie, Elsie, Elsie ! 
come down, quick The whisj)er came from 
Aunt Matilda, and she was not speaking in that 
tone without reason. I dressed quickly, but 
silently, in order not to awaken Florence, and 
stole down to her side as she stood at the foot 
of the stairs. Come here,’’ she whispered, 
taking my hand and leading me to the outer 
door which stood slightly ajar. ‘‘What is 
that ?” she whispered. “ I’ve been listening to 
it for the last twenty minutes ; what can it be?” 

I knew what it was. Had I not become 
familiarized to that sound through long, lonely 
days on the ranch, until it followed and haunted 
me, even in dreams? It was the soft thud, 
thudding, made by the feet of scores of sheep — 
sheep that were being driven rapidly, yet with- 
out noise, along the sandy highway. 

“ It’s a drove of sheep, auntie,” I whispered 


272 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


back, my teeth beginning to chatter, for the 
hour before dawn is always cold in the valley of 
San Coulee. 

“ Rome said that there was no drove but ours 
within a hundred miles,’’ murmured Aunt Ma- 
tilda. 

“ This may be a drove that is being driven 
down to the winter range in Southern Colorado 
from some place further up. You know Rome 
said that the shortest and easiest pass through 
the mountains, to the south, lies along the 
Coulee.” 

I wish I could get a glimpse of their ear- 
marks,” aunt whispered, anxiously, without 
heeding my explanation. 

<< Why, Aunt Matilda !” I exclaimed, startled. 
‘^You surely cannot think that these are our 
sheep! And Felix on guard, and the gates 
locked !” 

A bullet would kill Felix as quickly as it 
would a man, Elsie ; and as for the gates — ” 

I caught up a shawl. ^‘Aiint Matilda, I am 
going to find out whose sheep they are. I am 


A SECOND STAMPEDE 


273 


going to the top of that rock beside the road, just 
as it turns toward the upper valley. I can slip 
along the underbrush and no one will see me.’^ 
I suppose you can, but it’s so dark you can 
make out nothing.” 

It’s growing lighter every minute ; it will 
be quite light enough for me to see the sheep 
by the time I get there ; I shall know then 
whether it’s worth while for me to go out on the 
range.” 

“ Go then, but be careful. Oh, Elsie, be 
careful ! Stay. I will go with you.” 

‘‘No, no, indeed. Aunt Matilda! I shall be 
safer alone. I know the road so much better 
than you.” 

“ That is true ; go at once.” 

The rock in question was fully a mile away, 
and the sheep were now nearly abreast of the 
house. We had closed the door and, screened 
by the darkness, were peering from a window. 
It was impossible to distinguish any separate 
form ; only a moving mass of lighter darkness 
as the sheep trotted swiftly past. If the 
18 


274 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


driving was legitimate it was merciless; the 
poor creatures were too hard-pressed to waste 
breath in making complaint. I made out 
faintly, one, two, three large, vague forms fol- 
lowing close in the rear of the sheep and knew 
that they were those of mounted men. But 
how still they were ! There was absolutely no 
sound of a horse’s footfall ; it might have been, 
for all the noise they made, a spectral flock, fol- 
lowed by phantom riders. I stole to the back 
door, opened and closed it softly, made my 
way past the hay stacks and corral and so down 
into a ravine that ran for some distance nearly 
parallel with the road. I stumbled and fell a 
good many times, running in such haste and 
in darkness, but I picked myself up and ran 
the faster for every recurring delay. I tore 
my dress from the sharp branches of wait-a-bit 
thorns, and in doing so scratched my face until 
it bled. My hands were bruised and skinned 
from contact with sharp fragments of rock, as 
I flung them out wildly in the efibrt to break 
the force of my frequent tumbles ; but I ran on. 


A SECOND STAMPEDE 


275 


I must reach that rock and scale it before it was 
light enough for those advancing horsemen to 
see me, and the daylight grew apace. All the 
time that soft thud, thud, thud came swiftly 
along the road, but always a little farther 
behind me, so that I knew I was distancing 
the flock. I was spent and breathless, my 
knees shook under me, when, all at once, a 
blacker darkness loomed before me. I had 
reached the end of the ravine, and the barring 
darkness was the rock itself. I climbed it 
almost breathless, and lay along its top entirely 
concealed from the observation of any one be- 
neath, by a friendly fringe of bushes, yet 
having an unobstructed view of the road as it 
wound along below me. The windings of the 
road obliged the sheep drivers to cover a mile 
and a half to my one, so I had time to regain 
my breath, and to break off a branch or two 
from the friendly bushes and stick them up 
in front of me for a more effectual screen, 
before the foremost of the sheep came in sight. 
It was now quite light. I looked at them. 


276 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


and the one look was enough. . They were 
ours. I could not help thinking, even then, 
that if they were to be so mercilessly driven it 
was fortunate for them that they had not to 
carry the heavy fleeces that they had lately 
worn. 

I was bent on finding out who was driving 
them, and that proved an easy task. Safely 
past our house and out of earshot they had re- 
laxed their caution and were talking in low 
tones, but their conversation was anything but 
amiable. 

I wouldn’t a had it happen for the value of 
the whole denied flock,” declared a voice that I 
knew, and that, heard now, brought my heart 
into my mouth. The whole thing’s been purty 
nigh a fizzle, jest on account of your bein’ so 
everlastingly ready with your shootin’ irons.” 

The voice was that of Mr. Seaton. Another 
voice replied harshly : 

“ What’s the use of makin’ such a fuss about 
that ? I couldn’t help it ; it was him or me. I 
took him.” 


A SECOND STAMPEDE 277 

‘‘ I’d a liked it better if it bad been t’other 
way,” muttered Seaton, savagely. 

Say,” retorted the second speaker, drawing 
rein directly beneath my rock — I now saw why 
the horses’ feet made no sound, they were tied 
up in heavy folds of cloth — if you’ve got any 
more o’ that kind o’ talk keep it for your own 
use. Whose been so plumb crazy to make 
trouble for them tenderfoots all the time ? I 
know what’s the matter with you ! You’re mad 
’cause they saved the clip in spite of ye, and 
’cause Eoy Jones give up try in’ to drive ’em out 
after what they had done for his wife. They 
wouldn’t a had no trouble gettin’ herders, 
nuther, if you hadn’t a gone ’round among the 
Mexicans and — ” 

“ Shet up ! What’s the use o’ hollerin’ all 
that stuff so as it can be heard a mile ? Keep 
tliese sheep rovin’ if you expect to git any pay 
for it out o’ me !” 

They rode on out of sight and sound, still 
grumbling. I got down from my perch and 
walked slowly home, walked slowly into the 


278 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


house and told the assembled family — they were 
all up by this time — what had happened and 
who had engineered the work. Not much was 
said. Seaton’s treachery was too great for mere 
words to express. It was crushing ; it' was be- 
yond belief. After breakfast I put up the sup- 
ply of food that we carried daily to Felix, and, 
tying on my hat, told Johnny to bring up my 
horse. I had not been able to touch a morsel 
myself, and Aunt Matilda remonstrated when 
she saw Luck at the door. 

‘‘I don’t see that there’s any use in your 
going out to-day, Elsie, if the sheep are gone. 
You look like a ghost, and you have eaten no 
breakfast. Wait until you are feeling better.” 

I shall not feel better until I know what has 
become of Felix.” 

Very well ; if you do not come back soon 
I’ll sent Florence out with something for you. 
It may be that they have left us a few sheep.” 

That is not at all likely.” 

It did not take long for fleet-footed Luck to 
reach the scene of our daily labors. I rode up 



THE DOG WAS FELIX-DEAD 
(Page 279.) 



A SECOND STAMPEDE 


279 


to the corral that we had left all right the night 
before. It was not all right now. The gates 
had been beaten down and thrown aside as 
something that there would be no more use 
for. There were four or five dead sheep ; 
they had, seemingly, been trampled to death 
in the terrified rush out of the corral. Felix 
was nowhere in sight. I rode up and down, 
calling to him, until a little tawny mound, 
a few yards from the entrance to the corral, 
attracted my attention. The mound had not 
been there the day before. I rode close to it. 
I dismounted and fell upon my knees beside it. 
Only a dog ! Only a dog ! But the dog was 
Felix — dead. 


CHAPTER XX 


A SEEIOUS ACCIDENT 

Neakly every one has noticed how, after a 
long lapse of time in which, apparently, nothing 
happens, events come crowding one upon an- 
other, seeming to culminate with startling 
rapidity, so much so that one is swept quite out 
of his ordinary routine by them and left at the 
mercy of circumstances beyond his control. 

Such was the stage of experience that we now 
entered on with the second stampeding of the 
flock. This stampede, unlike the other, was 
eminently successful ; the sheep had vanished 
beyond our ken. I did not ride directly home 
after finding poor Felix’s body, but made a 
detour that took me around by the mine where 
Rome was working. I found him engaged in 
washing out a pan of black sand. He was using 
a kind of rough rocker that he had built him- 
self, and the sparkling water of his newly-made 
280 


A SERIOUS ACCIDENT 


281 


ditch was doing the most of the work. He 
came to my side when he saw me, and when I 
told him my story his slow anger kindled as I 
had never seen it before. 

You go home and say nothing,” he told me. 
“ I am going to get on the trail of those fellows ; 
I’m going to bring them to time, too. They’re 
going to be surprised in more ways than one 
when I catch up with them. I won’t try to get 
back the sheep ; but I reckon we can fix it so 
that the fellows who took ’em ’ll think best to 
pay for ’em before they get through with it. 
Your folks ’ll be willing to part with ’em I 
s’pose ?” 

I’m sure they will, Home,” I answered. I 
looked at the water of the San Coulee as it 
flowed j)ast, clear, swift, and thought of the lower 
valley that was, through its ministry, to blossom 
as the rose. Home shoved back the wooden 
rocker and straightened his bent shoulders. 

‘‘Well,” he said, “ I guess I’ll just get a bite 
to eat, then I’ll look around a little and kind o’ 
see what we can do for Mr. Seaton and his 


282 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


friends/’ He turned ex|)editiously toward the 
cabin beyond the ditch, and I, glad to feel that 
his broad shoulders were bearing a share of this 
new burden, turned the pony’s head homeward. 

There had been a change in the weather. 
The air was still, here in the sheltered valley, 
but cutting, and the cold increased as evening 
drew on. Canon and pine-clad slope were 
already dark with shadows, and U23 on Mount 
Kenneth the snow streamers, red as blood 
in the glow of sunset, danced like a wilder 
kind of Aurora Borealis. Throughout the day 
gray clouds had been hanging around the mon- 
arch’s brow, without descending below timber 
line, and now as the rising wind scattered them 
a fresh fall of snow was revealed. The wind 
was making the most of it. The evening star 
had risen, and was shining above the serried 
peaks of the Wind Biver range. I rode onward 
slowly, thinking how much warmer the far 
mountains looked than those close at hand. I 
was aroused from my star-gazing and brought 
back to the cruel realities of the present 


A SEKIOUS ACCIDENT 


283 


abruptly enough when I arrived in sight of the 
house. Although we were usually so careful of 
our invalid, on this chill evening of all others, 
doors were open, lights were flashing, as though 
carried in haste from room to room. 

My heart sank with a terrible premonition of 
what had happened. The heart-breaking words 
of an old, old text flashed through my mind : 
‘‘ Man born of woman is of few days and full 
of trouble ; he fleeth as a shadow and con- 
tinueth not — and continueth not — and con- 
tinueth not.” It had been a hard day. I 
bowed my face over Luck’s mane, shuddering. 
My heart contracted as it might if a merciless 
hand had suddenly closed upon it. Florence 
had seen me ; she came running out, crying, 
‘‘Oh, Elsie! Elsie! Such a dreadful thing has 
happened !” 

My lips were stiff*, but I managed to articu- 
late, faintly, “ He is gone !” 

“ Oh, no, no !” she exclaimed, with comfort- 
ing literalness, “ he didn’t get a chance to go at 
all ; the horse threw him, and — ” 


284 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


But, in the revulsion of feeling that swept over 
me as she went on — happily not realizing my 
mistake — I did not, for the moment, compre- 
hend her words. It was but for an instant; 
then I understood. Far more alarmed by my 
long absence than he would have been but for 
the events of the preceding night, and alone 
with Vevie, father had decided that he must go 
in search of me. Aunt Matilda and Florence 
were away, having taken Now Then and Billy 
for a look around the valley in the quite useless 
expectation that they might come upon some 
knowledge of the agency through which our 
sheep had been spirited away. It was late in 
the afternoon that father told Johnny to saddle 
Chris for him. Now Chris, meek as he was to 
look upon, was, as all who had the pleasure of 
his intimate acquaintance knew, extremely 
treacherous. It was chiefly owing to that un- 
desirable trait that he had been allowed to spend 
his time in the pasture, growing fat, while his 
mates did the work. 

Johnny seldom expressed an opinion, but, as 


A SERIOUS ACCIDENT 


285 


he brought the horse to the door, in obedience 
to orders, he ventured to remonstrate against 
father’s attempting to ride him. 

I ’low this yeller broncho’s goin’ to buck,” he 
said earnestly. He’s been on grass a long 
time. Sometimes good horses buck when they’ve 
rested more than they ought to; mean horse 
like this one will buck, sure.” 

Father had not forgotten that he had insisted 
upon the purchase of the gentle-mannered, yel- 
low broncho against the advice of Mr. Seaton. 
It had already been demonstrated that Mr. 
Seaton’s judgment in regard to horses was good, 
but Johnny’s words touched his pride. 

The horse is all right,” he said. Bring 
him up to the block and I’ll mount. Vevie,” 
he continued, walking toward the great 
smoothly-sawed section of a log that, placed on 
end, served the purpose of a horse block, tell 
your aunt that I have gone out toward the gate- 
way to look for Elsie.” The only horse that 
father had bestrode since that unlucky day’s ex- 
perience as a sheep herder, was Luck, a horse 


286 


THE GIKL RANCHERS 


of principle, who trod as carefully with father 
on his back as he might have done with a basket 
of eggs. Vevie had seen him upon Luck, and, 
in her eyes all horses were equally trustworthy. 

Don’t go far, papa !” she called after him as 
he turned Chris’s head toward the highway. 

I won’t, dear,” he replied, and — he did 

not. 

Aunt Matilda and Florence, riding toward 
the house, quickened their horses’ speed into a 
mad gallop as the sound of a child’s voice, rend- 
ing the air with wild shrieks, came^to their ears. 

Father was discovered lying motionless, face 
downward, in the highway. Vevie was on the 
ground beside him, her arms thrown over him, 
and screaming wildly, while poor, lame Johnny, 
his feeble wits quite scared out of him, stood 
beside them wringing his hands and crying but 
making no attempt to render aid. And yellow 
Chris, with the saddle turned under him, stood 
at a little distance, composedly cropping the 
pansy-bed in the front yard. 

They managed, among them, to carry father 


A SEUIOUS ACCIDENT 


287 


into the house, and to quiet Vevie, whose case 
had seemed for the time being nearly as critical 
as his. But all their efforts to restore him to 
consciousness had proved fruitless. 

‘‘We must have a doctor, Elsie. You must 
find Borne and get him to go to the Agency for 
the doctor,’’ exclaimed Aunt Matilda, as I ran 
into the house. I knew that it would be useless 
to go after Borne. I had already dispatched 
him upon another errand, in which direction I 
could not tell. Going to father’s bedside I 
looked at him steadily — “ he fleeth as a shadow 
— as a shadow — and continueth not.” The 
words tortured me. I pushed them aside by an 
effort of will so great that I seemed to have sud- 
denly and breathlessly performed some exhaust- 
ing physical labor, but they were gone and I 
could think. I would not let myself he fright- 
ened, though the face that I looked down upon 
was deadly white and still, and the closed eyes 
gave no gleam of life, for I knew that I must 
make the night ride to the Agency. There was 
no doctor nearer, no one but me to go. I had 


288 


THE GIKL EANCHERS 


been in tbe saddle all day and was, without 
knowing it, faint with hunger and fatigue. It 
would have been as reasonable to expect lame 
Johnny to brave the perils of the lonely way as 
to expect it of Florence ; besides no other mem- 
ber of the household knew the trail so well. 
There was no time to hunt for any other mes- 
senger. Father^s life, perhaps, depended upon 
the passing moments. Aunt had ascertained 
that his heart was beating faintly, I must go 
before those feeble heart-beats ceased altogether. 
‘‘Johnny, give Luck some oats; be quick,” I 
said. “ Don’t take off the saddle. I am going to 
the Agency for the doctor.” 

“ You !” cried Aunt Matilda. “ Oh, no, Elsie ! 
You must not ; you have been out all day — ” 
“ I am going, aunt, there is no one else ; I 
can get the doctor here before morning — by 
going over the mountain.” 

“ Over the mountain ! Elsie, you shall not 
attempt that ; it has been snowing up there, the 
trail will be lost ; you shall not go.” 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to disobey you, 


A SEKIOUS ACCIDENT 


289 


aunt. But go I will ; please don’t try to stop 
me. I can do it.” 

Florence was chafing father’s nerveless hands ; 
Aunt Matilda had been trying to force some 
stimulant between his closed teeth. I remem- 
ber how they both ceased their ministrations to 
turn and stare at me as I stood by the table in 
the lamjfiight. 

You must have a cup of coffee,” aunt said. 
Fortunately the half-filled coffee pot was on the 
stove. She poured out a cup for me and hastily 
cut a slice of bread and meat. Eat,” she said, 
thrusting them into my hands. ‘^You must, 
Elsie ; it is for strength.” I ate and drank 
hastily, then, putting on a heavy coat of father’s 
over my usual riding dress, and drawing on a 
pair of long fur gloves I went out to where 
Johnny was waiting with Luck. Florence, 
bending again over father, did not heed my 
going, but Aunt Matilda and Vevie followed 
me to the horse block. God bless you for a 
brave girl, Elsie,” aunt whispered, kissing me, 
and Vevie, throwing her arms around my neck, 
19 


290 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


sobbed. There are white angels in the snow 
up on Mount Kenneth ; I have seen them play- 
ing at sunset. If you get lost, ask them to tell 
you the way.’’ 

‘‘ I am sure the white angels of Kenneth will 
know one way, darling,” I could not help say- 
ing, with a sickening sense of the loneliness 
and cold of those far-off heights, that, as I 
looked upward in the moonlight, seemed to 
pierce the heavens. But I know the trail ; I 
shall not get lost; good-bye, and keep good 
courage.” 

I shook the bridle reins and Luck struck into 
a swift lope that soon took us to the point where 
we turned from the highway into Mount Ken- 
neth trail. My eyes were keen or I could not 
have distinguished the blind pathway, hidden, 
as it was, among the shadows of the rocks and 
trees. Fortunately, the full moon, early to- 
night, had risen, and its mellow light showed 
the way clearly enough if one only kept a 
sharp lookout. One who had not been over 
the trail could scarcely have remembered its 


A SEKIOUS ACCIDENT 


291 


landmarks. Now a blasted tree, weird and 
ghostly in the strange light, a jutting rock, an 
isolated patch of jack-oaks, a shelf of crumbling 
shale, or a bit of level sward. 

Up, up, still upward we toiled, brave Luck 
settling down to his task with an unflinching 
courage and perseverance, but speed was now 
out of the question. He could only climb. An 
hour passed ; two hours. The scattering belts 
of evergreens, the frequent park-like openings, 
where herds of half-wild cattle cropped the 
insufficient herbage, were left behind. The 
trail, always leading steadily upward into an 
atmosphere that grew as steadily colder — entered 
a dark forest of cedars, and it was then that I 
remembered something that I once heard Rome 
say of the cedar forests of Mount Kenneth. 

I drew rein, and, leaning forward on Luck’s 
neck, strained eyes and ears, striving to pierce 
the darkness, to catch some sound that should 
tell what was before us on the route that we 
must traverse. Luck, eager to have done with 
the night’s work, pawed impatiently. How 


292 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


loudly his iron-shod hoof clattered upon the 
rock. I shivered with something that was not 
cold. 

Be quiet ! Luck. Be quiet I whispered 
imploringly in the alert ear bent back to catch 
the sound of my voice. “ Luck/’ I whispered, 
scarcely knowing what I said or did, ‘‘ I am 
afraid ! I am afraid !” 

The pony tossed his head, tugging at the bit. 
Somehow, the resolute action shamed me into 
fresh courage. I thought of father lying so 
still down there in the valley, and shook the 
bridle reins again. ‘‘Go on. Luck; Vevie’s 
angels are above us.” I said it aloud, as, leav- 
ing the clear moonlight, we were instantly 
swallowed up in the black shadow of the cedar 
forest. 


CHAPTER XXI 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 

It was only by a superhuman effort of self- 
control that I refrained from urging fleet-footed 
Luck at speed through the unknown terrors 
of the cedar forest. Knowing that his strength 
must be reserved, as far as possible, for the 
last, fierce, breathless scramble above timber 
line, which would bring us to the wide, white 
desolation of the snow-fields, I held him and 
tried to forget what Rome had said, at a time 
when the saying was of so little moment. He 
had told us that if ever he particularly wanted 
to get a bear he should go up into the cedar 
forests on Mount Kenneth. Bears, he said, 
were extravagantly fond of the small round 
cedar berries that covered the ground under 
the cedar trees so thickly in the fall of the 
year. “ Night is their favorite time for feed- 
ing ; ’specially moonlight nights,” he had said. 

293 


294 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


I wouldn’t be afraid to bet that I could get a 
bear ’most any time that I took a notion to lay 
in wait for him, up among the rocks there.” 

An accident among those snow-fields that 
we were steadily nearing, or to be overcome 
with cold or fatigue, meant certain death, so I 
held Luck in and tried to think of other things 
than bears. I thought of father lying so still 
on the bed down there thousands of feet below ; 
of the sheep, wandering among these hills at 
the mercy of those brutish men, or of wild and 
roving animals ; of E-ome and his noble help- 
fulness ; of Donald Arleigh and the shock that 
it must have been to him to find us gone — 
supposing, always, that he still cared for us a 
little — but all was of no use. Rome’s careless 
words came as a refrain to which my throb- 
bing pulses and the pony’s regular hoof-beats 
kept measure. Sick with terror, I leaned for- 
ward on Luck’s neck, prepared, if I heard the 
slightest sound, to give him the word to go. 
And yet — what madness to urge a horse to 
speed on such a trail as this! 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 


295 


Half delirious as I was with the accumulat- 
ing terrors of the lonely way, I yet realized 
that I should not make such a demand u]3on 
the willing servant who carried me so bravely, 
as long as I could keep myself from it. The 
trail through the cedars was short. Bending 
low over the saddle and straining my eyes to 
pierce the gloom, I caught the gleam of moon- 
light on the trail ahead. At the same time 
there came to my ears the soft pit-a-pat, pit-a- 
pat of some creature who was following along 
through the dark trail behind me ; some crea- 
ture with padded feet, not hoofs. In the ex- 
tremity of my terror, instead of urging Luck to 
greater speed, as had been my previous impulse, 
I drew rein, and, wheeling sharply around, 
facing the back trail, waited. I had not the 
slightest doubt but that a bear was after me. 
I do not know why I simply sat and awaited his 
approach instead of flying, but that was what 
I did. It was then that a gleam of’ common 
sense came mercifully through the benumbing 
fog of fear that paralyzed my faculties. 


296 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


I observed that Luck showed no uneasiness 
whatever; on the contrary, his alertly-pointed 
ears and outstretched muzzle seemed to evince 
that he scented a friend. 

I had just comprehended this when a long, 
slender, white body emerged from the shadow 
of the cedars, and, pausing in front of my 
horse, looked up at me expectantly. 

‘‘Calif! O Calif! Is it you? Is it you, 
dear Calif?’’ the relief was so great that I 
covered my face with my hands and sobbed 
aloud from sheer nervous re-action. Luck and 
Calif were the best of friends, as was natural 
between two such intelligent animals, and now, 
when Calif, distressed at my outburst, reared 
up beside him and put both forepaws in my 
lap, rubbing his slender nose sympathetically 
against my shoulder. Luck only turned his 
head, watching proceedings. “I don’t know 
how you ever made up your mind to leave 
Vevie, Calif,” I said, checking my sobs at last 
and patting his head thankfully, “ but I’m 
glad you’ve come.” 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 297 

I found out afterward, on inquiry, that 
Vevie, and not Calif, was entitled to the credit 
of his brave following ; she told me about it, 
and these are her words : 

‘‘ When I went into the house,'^ said Vevie, 
‘‘ and cried because papa was hurt and it was 
night, and you were going over the mountain, 
Calif came and looked at me, so sorry. I 
thought how Felix was dead, and how you loved 
him, and how he would have gone with you, 
maybe, if he had been alive, and how nothing 
could have hurted you then, and I told Calif all 
about it. I told him to follow you. He didii^t 
seem to want to go at first. I don’t think it 
was because he wasn’t willing, though the rocks 
do cut his feet. Then I took him to the barn 
and showed him that Luck was gone, and I 
asked him to smell of your old riding glove, and 
of Luck’s track, and I said, ^ Go find them, 
Calif, find them !’ and he started right off.” 

I am sure that no one else could have made 
the greyhound understand what was wanted, 
but, indeed, it seemed at times as if he compre- 


298 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


hended her every word. An hour afterward I 
was sorry that he had come, not withsta:n ding 
the comfort his presence had brought me. But 
it was only in a dazed way, for the strain upon 
my own endurance left little ability to feel 
for another's distress. We were climbing the 
heights now, and the air was piercingly cold. 
Luck knew the trail so much better than I that 
I left the matter of finding it entirely to him. 
We passed the last cluster of scattering firs, 
dwarfed and tortured into all sorts of grotesque 
shapes by the never-ending struggle with storm 
and cold. Sliding and stumbling, we scrambled 
up the loose shale rocks above timber line and 
entered upon the most perilous stage of the 
night's adventurous trip. I was by this time so 
numb with cold and fatigue that I frequently 
caught myself swaying in the saddle, but I 
rallied my sinking energies as I caught a 
glimpse of something whiter than moonlight 
beneath Luck's feet. We were entering upon 
the snow fields, white, wide, still, swung mid- 
way between the far-off earth beneath and the 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 299 

steel-like glitter of the hir-off stars above. It 
was a region of chaos, of death, where a silence 
that was never broken, a cold that never re- 
laxed, reigned sujirerne. The icy blast seemed, 
despite the thick, fur-lined gloves, to flay the 
skin from my stiffening Angers as Luck went 
steadily on, and I caught the full force of its 
merciless sweep. Calif, blinded by its savage 
fury, sought shelter beside the horse, growling 
and whimpering, but with no thought of desertion 
in his loyal heart. I tried to sjieak a reassuring 
word to him, but the wind, the night wind that 
always blows on Kenneth, and whose fantastic 
orgies I had so often watched with interest from 
the warm shelter of the valley, tore the words 
from my lips and beat in my face until, gasj^ing 
and suffocated, I gave up all attempts to sjieak. 
The trail winds for three miles among the rocks 
and precipices that the snow treacherously con- 
ceals without robbing of their danger. Then 
it drops down to timber line again, and so on 
through a dense pine forest to the outskirts of 
the Red Cliff Reservation. But, after a little. 


300 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


the way did not seem long to me, or lonely. I 
heard, vaguely, as in a dream, a low voice crying. 
Was it Florence, bending over father? No ; it 
was Felix — Felix, as he had cried that day after 
his search in the mountains for the stampeded 
sheep, when I had pulled the cactus thorns 
from his torn and bleeding feet and bound them 
up in soft cloths. “ Felix, Felix !” I gasped 
faintly ; where are the sheep The sound 
of my own voice steadied my reeling senses. I 
remembered that Felix was dead. It was Calif 
who was whimpering piteously at my side, but, 
in a moment, I no longer heard him, for before 
me, tall and white and whirling lightly over 
the snow, all about us in the moonlight, were 
the white angels of Mount Kenneth. 

They waved their arms, beckoning me, they 
beat the air with wide, noiseless wings; their 
invisible buoyant feet spurned the snow beneath 
with a soft hissing sound. ‘‘ They are calling 
us to follow them. Luck,’’ I muttered. “ They 
are saying. Come !” If I tried, as I think I did, 
to force Luck from the trail to engage in a stern 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 


301 


chase after the snow wraiths of Kenneth, he was 
too wise to obey me, but what he did, or I, or 
Calif, or when we left the white waste of death 
and dropped down into the balsamic warmth of 
the pine forest, I have no means of knowing. 
My last confused, distorted recollections are of 
the driving snow wraiths, and the dim anguish 
of the thought that we must follow where they 
led. How the ride terminated was told me 
afterward, and I will tell it now. 

It was after twelve o^clock that night that my 
friend, Kunning Wolf, having finished his pipe, 
laid it aside with a prodigious yawn, and started 
to crawl into the pile of blankets lying on the 
floor, blankets being the Indian excuse for a 
bed. Just then he heard the sound made by 
slow, cautious footsteps as they stole past his 
dwelling. He stood still, with bent head, listen- 
ing. The slow footsteps that had lagged a little 
before his tepee, went on steadily. Running 
Wolf raised the flap of his tepee and peeped out. 
He was an Indian and not given to alarm, but 
his description of what he saw was : 


302 


THE GIKL RANCHEKS 


I have a piece of ice lay all ’long way down 
my back; my hair grow stiff and stand up. 
Right before, going slow, slow, with his head 
hung down so that his nose was touchin’ the 
ground, was my totem ! The great white wolf 
that goes through the village of th Indians 
when any of the people are to die. I had no 
fear. No. But the Indians are no more fit to 
die. They are sluggish cowards who eat the 
food the white man throws them, same like his 
dog eats. And the squaws ? When is a squaw 
ever fit for death ? Then I looked some more, 
hoping the wolf would go on, for whoever the 
white Manitou of the wolf looks uj)on, dies, and 
it was not a wolf at all, but the great white dog 
of the little mist squaw of the San Coulee. And 
he was following a pony that had something 
lying across his back, and I went out.” 

It seems I had only consciousness enough left 
to cling to the saddle upon which I was lying, 
rather than sitting, when Running Wolf came 
to my aid. How slowly, with what infinite care 
Luck must have made the descent of the moun- 


AMONG THE SNOW WRAITHS 


803 


tain, not to have displaced the helj^less rider 
swaying upon his back ! He remembered the 
Agency where we had been before, and, after a 
moment’s indecision at the tepee of Running 
AVolf, had started to take me to the house where 
he and I had been during my former visit. 

It was hours afterward, and full daylight, 
when I recovered consciousness. There was an 
odor of drugs in the air, a murmur of low voices 
near me and a sense of warmth, of rescue. But 
where was Luck, and Calif, and the doctor ? I 
stirred, and every bone and muscle in my body 
promptly responded by adding the force of 
their strength to the one great ache that seemed 
to enwrap my bruised and tortured body like an 
all-enveloping garment. I groaned and opened 
my eyes. A delicate white head was thrust 
eagerly forward and laid upon my breast, and 
Calif’s yellow eyes gazed solemnly into mine. 

‘‘What has happened, Calif?” I whispered, 
faintly. Calif did not answer, nor object to 
being gently pushed aside, as some one bent 
over me. 


804 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


A familiar voice said quietly : You are 
in the house of the agent of the Eed Cliff 
Reservation, lying on a lounge in the front 
room where the sun can look at you/^ 

Where is Luck 

‘‘Luck,” the voice repeated musingly, and 
added, “What more natural, under the cir- 
cumstances, than that she should be inquiring 
for the horse that saved her life? We41 
chance it that Luck is the horse.” In a louder 
tone the speaker continued, “Luck is in the 
barn.” 

“ I hope they gave him oats,” I murmured ; 
“ he doesn’t like corn.” 

“ He shall have oats, then, the hero, he 
should have them if every grain were balanced 
against a grain of gold.” 

I was still confused, and it did not lessen my 
confusion to look up, as I did, into the smiling, 
tender face bending over me ; the face of one 
who was, at last accounts, so many hundred 
miles away. 

“ There were angels,” I stammered, foolishly. 


AMONG THE SNOW WKAITHS 


305 


they beckoned to me — were — you — you with 
them — or — ’’ with a sudden, awakening attempt 
to again grasp my lapsing senses — was it the 
snow wreath ?” 

I think it must have been the snow wreaths, 
Elsie, dear, for I have not been in the company 
of any angels — until now/’ 

All at once I remembered the ride and its 
purpose. I sat up, wildly throwing aside the 
coverings that had been put over me. 

Oh, Donald, Donald ! I came for the doctor, 
father is hurt ; he may be killed !” 

Donald laid me gently back upon the pillows. 
‘‘ He’s all right, Elsie. I came from there not 
long ago ; I came by way of the plains instead 
of over the mountain. You had been here, 
lying unconscious for three hours when I got 
here. Your father was not hurt ; he was 
stunned by the fall ; when he came to — as he 
did a few minutes after you left — he was as well 
as ever. But he was wild when he heard what 
you had done. He said that you were always 
afraid when alone out-of-doors after nightfall, 
20 


306 


THE GTEL liANCHERS 


and he seemed to think that night up on those 
snow fields wouldn’t be a very comfortable 
place — She’s awake now, Doctor,” he broke off 
suddenly, as a middle-aged, military looking 
gentleman stepped into the room and approached 
the lounge. 

The doctor felt my pulse, lifted one of my 
eyelids, and peered into the eye inquiringly, 
then nodded cheerfully. 

She will be all right as soon as she gets 
well rested. But it’s been something of a shock. 
It will take some time for her nerves to recover 
their tone.” 

‘‘ What happened to me. Doctor ?” 

The doctor smiled quizzically. As nearly 
as I can make out you have been very fortunate. 
Your imagination and the stress you were under, 
added to the weirdness of your lonely ride, has 
played some odd pranks with you. But,” he has- 
tened to add as I felt a wave of color surging 
over my face, you have no cause to blush for 
it. There are few men, let me tell you, who 
would take that ride at night, and that you are 


AMONG THE SNOW WKAITHS 


307 


alive to-clay you may thank your faithful little 
pony for and no one else. If he had not kept the 
trail — well, all I have to say is, let well enough 
alone ; don’t try it again.” 

The agent’s wife herself brought me a de- 
licious breakfast on a tray and sat beside me, 
chatting of small, unexciting matters while I 
ate. Father was not hurt, and over there by 
the window was Donald Arleigh, Donald who 
had come back, and whose coming had flooded 
the world with sunshine. He was not ungrate- 
ful ; he could explain all. I looked at him with 
an exultant smile, I was so glad, so glad. 
Donald met my look and smiled too. 

Poor Calif did not come ofi* scot free,” he 
remarked as I drank the last drop of my coffee 
and secretly longed for more; “his paws are 
badly cut, but he concluded to let me dress 
them.” 

A memory of the sheep-fold, of Felix and a 
similar service that I had once performed for 
him, came over me in a wave of pain. 

“ I washed Felix’s feet and bound them up 


308 


THE GIEL RANCHEKS 


the day that he brought back the sheep/ ^ I said, 
inconsequently. But the sheep are lost and 
Felix is dead.” It seemed strange, at the 
moment, that Felix could not know what loy- 
alty, what devotion went out of my life when 
he died. 


CHAPTER XXII 


ME. SEATON IS CORNERED 

Donald had hired Mr. Davis’ son, Don, to 
bring him to the Agency, and Don, with his 
father’s horses and carriage, was still waiting. 

I rallied from my stupor so quickly, and 
was so eager to return, that Donald decided to 
take me back with him, especially as the doctor 
declared that the journey would do me less 
harm than the impatient waiting. We took 
Calif into the carriage with us and Don rode 
Luck. 

It was during that long, delicious, restful 
homeward ride that Donald told why he left us 
so strangely, and from that day to this I have 
felt the pangs of remorseful shame because of 
my unworthy suspicions of him. 

I know,” Donald said, “ that Uncle Hugh ” 
— there was no relationship between them, but 
he always called father Uncle ” and Aunt 

309 


310 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Matilda Aunt/’ — ‘‘ would never consent to my 
taking my money to push his inventions. He 
would refuse to let me have the formula and 
the descriptive literature if he knew that I in- 
tended to embark in any such enteriDrise. I 
had absolute faith in the utility of his inven- 
tions — more especially the incombustible wood 
formula — but he had no money to spare in in- 
troduciug it to the notice of the men whom he 
must reach and influence, the manufacturers. 
And, indeed, he is not at all the sort of man to 
go about espousing his own cause. I’m differ- 
ent, less sensitive, more practical. I knew that 
as long as Uncle Hugh furnished the brains I 
could carry out the other part all right.” 

Donald !” 

‘‘It’s true, Elsie. Why, your father is a 
wonderful man ; it’s no disparagement to give 
him the credit of having more brains than I. 
He has more brains than a dozen ordinary men 
put together. I had to have money. I took 
mine, and also took his consent to my using his 
formulas for granted. If I failed, no one but 


MR. SEATON IS CORNERED 


311 


I would be the loser. If I won it would be 
something worth while for us all. I haven’t 
failed, Elsie.” I leaned back blissfully in the 
carriage, watching the fleecy white of the clouds 
beyond the far northern Buttes. They looked 
not unlike droves of sheep, and they were van- 
ishing, vanishing. I had no wish to call them 
back. 

There is no occasion for my going into all 
the details,” Donald went on. ‘‘ More time was 
required than I had anticipated. I had resolved 
not to communicate with any of you until I 
could say deflnitely whether I had won or lost. 
I had no idea then that Uncle Hugh’s health 
was in so precarious a state.” 

‘‘ He grieved so for you, Donald,” I could 
not help telling him. 

‘‘ I’m afraid he did, Elsie. I was doing evil 
that good might follow, and that is always a 
dangerous experiment. I ought to have writ- 
ten. I remember, Elsie, that you never cared 
to know how a thing was done ; it was only the 
result that interested you, so I will spare you 


312 


THE GXKL RANCHEKS 


the technicalities, but you will not need to be a 
sheep herder any longer, Elsie.” 

‘‘ Sheep herding has not hurt me, Donald,” I 
said, truthfully. It has been a strange, wild 
experience. I am glad if it’s over with, but I 
am not sorry to have had it.” 

‘‘I gathered from what young Davis told me 
as we were coming over that it’s been rather a 
romantic episode all through, and now that the 
unfortunate sheep have been burglarized — ” 
That’s true, if you call it burglary. They 
have been stolen.” 

‘‘ Davis said that your friend, Beaumont, had 
organized a posse — that was the impressive way 
in which he worded it — and gone in pursuit of 
the thieves.” 

‘‘ I don’t know about the posse, I’m sure. I 
hope he got some one to help him, but he would 
have gone alone if he could not.” 

There may be some word from him awaiting 
us by the time we get home.” 

There was none, however. Father, whom I 
had left lying white and still upon his bed the 


MR. SEATON IS CORNERED 313 

night before, came to the carriage to help me 
out. His lips trembled as he looked at me. 

‘‘ Elsie, what am I to do with a daughter who 
will do such reckless things T’ he asked tremu- 
lously. ‘‘ Ought I to scold, or bless you T* 

“ Neither, I guess, papa,’’ I whispered, laying 
my head on his shoulder and giving way to 
weak tears for a moment. But you may bless 
Luck.’" 

He took off his hat. ‘‘ God bless and keep 
my brave little Elsie,” he said reverently. 

Don Davis rode up with Luck a few minutes 
after our arrival. He had followed along the 
highway instead of obliging the pony to again 
make the trip over the mountain. Father, 
Donald, and Florence all went out to the barn 
with Johnny to see the noble fellow cared for, 
but I remained lying on the lounge where I had 
dropped wearily on entering the house. Aunt 
Matilda, who reproached herself quite cause- 
lessly for allowing me to go — she could not 
have prevented it — sat down by my side and 
told how Donald had come, just in the nick of 


314 


THE GIEL RANCHEES 


time. Father had recovered consciousness, and, 
none the worse for the rough usage he had had, 
was nearly beside himself with grief at the 
thing I had undertaken to do on his account. 

“ He was declaring that he would take Now 
Then, who, you know, is safe to ride, and go 
after you, when Donald came to the door. 
When he heard the story he made Hugh sit 
down and keep still. ‘ I will go and bring 
Elsie back,’ he said. And Hugh has such con- 
fidence in him he never even asked how he was 
going about it. He knew that Donald would 
do everything right. Dear me ! what a bless- 
ing that boy is, and always has been.” 

And always will be,” I added remorsefully. 

Vevie was sitting on the floor beside Calif, 
who, it appeared to me, was more than willing 
to accept all the encomiums that she lavished 
upon him for his bravery. She wiped away 
some furtive tears when it came to examining 
his feet. 

‘‘I’m not sorry that he went,” she said 
quickly, in answer to my pitying look. “ He 


MR. SEATON IS CORNERED 


315 


ain^t sorry, either, but the cuts on his feet do 
hurt so 

‘‘ They will soon heal, dearest.’’ 

“I know they will; I was just telling 
him. so.” 

The others were returning from the barn. 
As they neared the house we could distinguish 
other voices mingling with theirs. Aunt Matilda 
sprang up. There’s Rome !” she cried. She 
threw the door open, and a striking group filed 
into the room in response to her ‘‘ Come in.” 
I sat up, and Vevie and Calif retreated to my 
side as Rome, the black-browed Roy Jones, and 
Mr. Seaton, followed by father, Donald, and 
Florence, entered, filling the little room to over- 
flowing. 

‘‘ You might as well all set down,” observed 
Rome, constituting himself the master of cere- 
monies. We’ve got a considerable business to 
transact, and might as well do it comfortably.” 
His advice was taken and he proceeded, You 
see, Mr. and Miss Stanley, and you, Mr. 
Arleigh, for they jest said you was one of the 


316 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


family — and proud you may be of belonging 
to it—’’ 

‘‘ I am.” 

“ That’s right — and I s’pose I’d ought to in- 
clude the girls, sence it was them that — ” 

‘‘ Eome, do go on !” cried Florence, laugh- 
ingly. ‘‘ If you are going to include all of us 
and our ramifications in your preface, you’ll 
never get started.” 

“I suppose you’re right. Miss Florence,” Eome 
declared, scratching his head ruefully, for I 
find that I’m clean run aground now. I reckon 
I’d best tell the thing that you all want to 
know without tryin’ to put in any frills,” which 
he proceeded to do. The story, without frills, 
was that Eome and Eoy Jones, who volunteered 
to help him, came up with Mr. Seaton and his 
helpers, late on the same night that they started 
out in pursuit. The sheep had been corralled, 
and the men were guarding them. 

Threatened with exposure to the whole coun- 
tryside, which could forgive a stampede, but not 
a theft, Seaton had reluctantly consented to 


ME. SEATON IS CORNEKED 


317 


accompany them back to the San Coulee and 
make terms with the owners of the sheep. The 
flock was left where it had been found, the two 
men agreeing to remain on guard until they 
should again hear fron^ Mr. Seaton. ‘‘ I told 
him,^’ concluded Rome, summing up, ‘‘that 
sence he seemed to hanker after sheep, he could 
prob’ly get this flock by payin’ a fair price for 
it ; sheep’s gone up.” 

“ I ain’t able to pay no fancy prices,” mut- 
tered Seaton, the bitterness of defeat in his 
angry voice. He had not spoken before, and it 
was hard to say whether, looking at him, he 
seemed more angry or ashamed. “ I didn’t ask 
you no fancy price,” he continued, appealing to 
father. 

“ That’s true,” began father, when the hither- 
to silent Jones, interposed. “The reason he 
sold so cheap to you was that he was ’lowing to 
git ’em back fur nothing. Mr. Stanley, you 
needn’t feel obligated to sell ’em back cheap 
to him, on that account.” 

“ You’ve changed yer tune some, about sheep 


318 


THE GIKL RANOHEKS 


ranching since you ’n^ your gang tried to stam- 
pede Stanley’s flock in the spring,” Mr. Seaton 
reminded his quondam friend, with a scowl. 

Not ’bout sheep ranchin’ but ’bout — some — 
ranchers,” replied Mr. Jones, significantly. “ I 
ain’t denyin’ that I think sheep is a cuss to the 
country, and I’ve done my best, ’long back, to 
drive ’em out. But I ain’t no coyote, and, 
after we all seen how plucky them girls was, 
’ll’ how they would keep the flock, or die tryin’, 
’n’ after what they done fur my wife, I gin 
it out, that fur’s I was concerned, the Stanley 
sheep ranch would be let alone. I didn’t 
’low that we wanted no more sheep here, but 
that these wouldn’t be teched. And you knew 
it. That’s why you kep’ a threatenin’ the Mex- 
icans, so ’st they wouldn’t work for Stanley. 
You wanted a chance to git them yourself. If 
it hadn’t a been fur you, these young ladies 
wouldn’t a been ’bliged t’ take the trouble ’t 
fetch a lot of Indians over from the Reserva- 
tion to shear their sheep.” Ther^ was, as he 
said this, a gleam in Mr. Jones’ solemn eyes, 


ME. SEATON IS COENEEED 


319 


that, in any one else, would seem to denote 
amusement. I wondered, and still wonder, if 
he had doubts of the authenticity of our 
Indians. 

Mr. Seaton, looking the picture of humilia- 
tion and baffled enterprise, said miserably, as if 
in extenuation, I’ve had hard luck this sum- 
mer. Two of my horses died, and the cattle 
business ain’t provin’ as profitable as the sheep, 
and I always liked it best, anyway. I wouldn’t 
a sold out in the first place if it hadn’t been for 
you, Roy Jones,” who responded promptly, 

‘‘ That’s not true, and you know it. Now you 
want to come to Mr. Stanley’s terms without no 
more whining.” 

And that was what he did. He gave father, 
then and there, a check on the bank where his 
funds were deposited for the full value of the 
sheep at the market price. The profit accruing 
to us from the transaction was enough to make 
me open my eyes in amazement. 

I s’pose you won’t interfere now with my 
going back and tending to them sheep,” Mr. 


320 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


Seaton remarked, sullenly, at the close of tlie 
legal formalities. 

“ No,” father said. You can go.” 

‘‘Wait,” interposed Mr. Jones again. “See 
here, Seaton, I hain’t never said nothing 'bout 
it before, but — there's Johnny; whilst you're 
settling, settle that !” 

Seaton, who had got upon his feet, sat down 
suddenly at these words ; his face turned of a 
chalky whiteness, but he tried to brave it out. 

“ I — I don't know what you mean !” he 
gasped. 

“You know it's a penitentiary offense. You 
got yourself 'pinted Johnny's guardeen a' pur- 
pose so that you could get a holt of the money 
that belonged to him from the sale of this place. 
In other words, you never paid for it. The 
money that Mr. Stanley j)aid you for the San 
Coulee ranch, belongs to Johnny. Now you 
fork over, or I'll know the reason why.” 

Mr. Seaton was vanquished. He drew an- 
other check in Johnny's favor, and, in addition, 
a writing which Mr. Jones, who seemed rather 


MR. SEATON IS CORNERED 


321 


fond of legal phrases, designated as a deed of 
relinquishment,” giving over to Rome Beau- 
mont all the powers that he, Mr. Seaton, had 
hitherto possessed as the legal guardian of the 
ward known as John Alton.” I have no means 
of knowing whether the deed was, or would 
have been binding in the eyes of the law, but it 
served its purpose. Johnny, when the matter 
was explained to him, gathered the idea that he 
belonged henceforth to Rome, and was inordi- 
nately happy in consequence. 

The San Coulee fruit ranch is an assured 
success. 

Father’s health is fully restored, but he is 
so interested in the fruit ranch that he leaves 
to Donald Arleigh the management of those 
other affairs that his heart was once so set 
upon. 

It took Rome a long time to persuade Aunt 
Matilda to forgive him for supposing, as she 
,put it, that^ he must be gold-washed before he 
could venture to ask her hand in marriage, 
but, as the marriage subsequently took place, I 
21 


322 


THE GIRL RANCHERS 


suppose slie forgave him in the end. They are 
the active working principals of the fruit ranch, 
notwithstanding that Rome has amassed a large 
fortune from the sale of his mine. 

Florence, with leisure and opportunity to 
make use of her talents, dedicates them, not to 
money-getting, but to the nobler work of 
comforting, of uplifting the sick, the sorrow- 
ful, the heavy-hearted of all classes. 

Vevie and Calif still attend father as faith- 
fully as twin shadows, and I think that one 
reason why he finds it so hard to leave his 
chosen valley, for even the briefest absence, is 
that he so misses their companionship. 


THE END 


Comrades True 

OR 

PERSEVERANCE VS. GENIUS 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. 

Author of Among the Esquimaux,’' 
^‘The Campers Out,” etc. 

320 Pages Illustrated 

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In following the career of two friends from youth to 
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IS endowed with brilliant talents, is quick and impulsive, 
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possessing only ordinary ability, is resolute and persever- 
ing, overcoming all obstacles in his path until success is 
attained. 

This story possesses the usual exciting and interes..ng 
experiences that occur in the lives of all bright and active 
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ordinarily realistic, as the two heroes in their experiences 
pass through the recent calamitous forest fires in northern 
Minnesota, and barely escape with their lives. 

The perusal of this story will not only prove fascinating, 
l)ut its teaching will encourage young men to depend for 
success in life upon patience and perseverance in right 
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Among the Esquimaux 

OR, 

Adventures Under the Arctic Circle 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. 
Author of “ The Campers Out,” Etc 
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The main interest of the story centres about two 
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them into dangerous positions. They visit an iceberg, 
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The story is sure to prove interesting to any reader, 
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for centuries past. 



The Campers Out 

OR 

The Right Path and the Wrong 

■ By , Edward S. Ellis, A. M. 

' Author of ‘‘Among the Esqui- 
maux,” “ Comrades True,” etc. 

363 pages Illustrated 

Cloth, ^1.25 

This is one of the most interesting 
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boy, for he is sure to be instructed as well as entertained. 

“ The Campers Out ” is bright, breezy, and full of ad- 
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and the “ wrong path ” of several boys with such strik- 
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Andy’s Ward 

OR 

THE INTERNATIONAL 
MUSEUM . 

By James Otis 

Author of “ The Braganza Diamond/ 
Chasing a Yacht,” etc. 

358 Pages Illustrated 

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A peculiarly fascinating narrative of the life and ex- 
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Chasing a Yacht 

By James Otis 
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The Braganza Diamond,” “Andy’s 
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350 pages Illustrated 

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Two boys have engaged to run a ■ 
steam yacht for the double purpose 
of pleasure and profit, and after care- 
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The Braganza Diamond 

By James Otis 
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‘^Chasing a Yacht,” ‘‘Andy’s 
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383 pages Illustrated 

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Long before the opening events of 
this story the fragments of this cele- 
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been taken from a wreck by an old sea captain, and 
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The iVloncasket iVlystery 

AND 

How Tom Hardy 5olved !t 


By Sidney Marlow 
375 pages Illustrated 

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The tone of this book is earnestly 
and emphatically moral, and the au- 
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morality so attractive to youth as to 
find it coupled with ingenuity, energy, 
and pluck. 

There is no “ cant ” and no “ can’t ” about Tom Hardy, 
the decidedly vigorous hero of this story. He is a safe 
and worthy companion of any boy or girl, and it is pre- 
dicted that he will not only win a warm place for him- 
self in the hearts of all who make his acquaintance, but 
that he will gallantly retain it long after the covers shall 
have closed upon this chronicle of his efforts and adven- 
tures. He is an admirable boy, yet the author, in defi- 
ance of the usual method in modern juvenile fiction, has 
refused to sacrifice all of the other characters to the sin- 
gle hero. Even those whose parts are but the slightest 
have been so attractively presented that the reader feels 
that if the events had chanced to require it each one of 
them would have become a hero. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
Qf price. 

The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia 



Harry Ambler, and How He 

Saved the Homestead 

By Sidney Marlow 
350 Pages Illustrated 

Cloth, I1.25 

This is a narrative of a bright, ac- 
tive, and courageous boy, suddenly 
thrown upon his own resources and 
subjected to the malicious plots of a 
powerful enemy. The effectual and 
yet not unnatural manner in which the 
hero turns his enemy’s weapons to his own defence, con- 
stitutes, perhaps, the chief charm of the book. 

The story abounds in humorous and exciting situations, 
yet it is in no objectionable way sensational. There is 
nothing in it that will tend to create or encourage a taste 
for mere reckless adventure. 

The author has given more attention to the delineation 
of his characters than is usual in juvenile literature, thus 
making the story pleasant reading, even for those who 
have passed the outer line of boyhood. 

He believes in a “ moral,” but not in those bits of ab- 
stract virtue which are so frequently forced into juvenile 
stories, only to be “skipped” by the youthful reader. 
He would create a personal sympathy with the best ef- 
forts of fallible boys and girls, rather than an admiration 
for the mere name of virtue. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
of price. 



The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia 


The Story of the Iliad 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 
By Dr. Edward Brooks, A. M. 
370 pages Profusely Illustrated 

Cloth Binding, I1.25 

This is a story of absorbing interest 
both to young and old. It relates in 
a simple prose narrative the leading 
incidents of one of the greatest literary 
works of the world — the Iliad of Homer. Many of its 
names are household words among educated people, and 
its incidents are a constant source of allusion and illus- 
tration among the best speakers and writers. No one 
with any claim to literary culture can afford to be igno- 
rant of them. 

The object of the work is two-fold — first, to present to 
young people an interesting story which will be read 
with pleasure and at the same time cultivate a taste for 
good literature ; second, to give a popular knowledge of 
this famous work of Homer and thus afford a sort of 
stepping-stone to one of the grandest poetical structures 
of all time. 

It is thus a book for the home circle, and should be in 
every household in the land. It is recommended espe- 
cially for School Libraries and young folks’ Reading 
Circles, and also to schools as a Supplementary 
Reader. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
of price. 



The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia 


The Story of the Odyssey 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 
By Dr. Edward Brooks, A. M. 
370 pages Profusely Illustrated 

Cloth Binding, |i. 25 
White and Silver Edition, I1.50 
The Odyssey of Homer combines 
the romance of travel with that of 
domestic life, and it differs from the 
Iliad, which is a tale of the camp and 
battle-field. Although the ancient author concentrates 
the attention on a single character — Ulysses — he re- 
fers to several beautiful women, including some of 
the goddesses. After the siege of Troy, Ulysses 
started on a voyage of discovery and adventure in 
unknown lands, which^ although described with poetic 
exaggeration, “ has been a rich mine of wealth for 
poets and romancers, painters and sculptors, from 
the date of the age which we call Homer’s down to 
our own.” 

In this wonderful poem lie the germs of thousands of 
volumes which fill our modern libraries. Without some 
knowledge of it, readers will miss the point of many 
things in modern art and literature. 

Ulysses was brave and valiant as a soldier, and was dis- 
tinguished for his wisdom and shrewdness which enabled 
him to extricate himself from the difficulties which to 
others would seem insurmountable. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
of price. 

The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch 5treetf Philadelphia 



The Young: Boatman 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

369 Pages Illustrated 

Cloth, I1.25 

This is an interesting story of a boy 
who is obliged to support himself and 
his mother by rowing passengers 
across the Kennebec River. To add 
to his trials, his intemperate step- 
father, after serving a term of im- 
prisonment, returns home and endeavors to compel 
the boy to pay over his small earnings to him. 
This the boy, who was appropriately nicknamed 
Grit, refuses to do, and after a struggle the stepfather 
retires from the conflict and returns to his thieving 
habits. 

Shortly after Grit discovers a conspiracy to rob the 
bank and promptly communicates his knowledge to the 
president, who succeeds in frustrating the plans of the 
robbers and secures their arrest. 

Grit’s cheerful manner and kindly good nature, 
coupled with the most sterling honesty, cause him 
to be held in high esteem by all who know him. His 
manly courage and self-reliance are often sorely tested, 
but his indomitable pluck transmutes calamity into suc- 
cess. 

The book is full of incident and adventure of just the 
right sort to hold the attention of any bright boy. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
of price. 

The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia 





The Odds Against Him, or 
Carl Crawford’s Experience 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

350 pages Illustrated 

Cloth, $1.25 

The hero of this story had to leave 
home on account of the ill-treatment 
he received from his stepmother, who 
had a son of her own about the same 
age. Dr. Crawford, a man of con- 
siderable wealth, but of weak, vacil- 
lating mind, loved his son, but was afraid to show his 
true feelings in the presence of his wife. After leaving 
home and meeting with a number of adverse experi- 
ences, Carl eventually obtained employment in a fac- 
tory. He soon gained the confidence of his employer, 
and after frustrating an attempt of the book-keeper to 
rob the safe, he was appointed as a traveler, and, visit- 
ing Chicago, he discovered that his stepmother had an- 
other husband living. Her success, in getting a will 
made in her own favor, an attempt on the life of her hus- 
band, etc., are all defeated, and Carl came out victorious 
in the end. 

The book is full of bright, cheerful, and amusing inci- 
dents, showing that a boy of good, honest, sterling, in- 
dustrious habits can always secure friends, and succeed 
in earning a good living. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt 
of price. 

The Penn Publishing Company 

1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia 



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